Why Is It Always Kansas?
by Heir to the Crescent Moon
Summary: DeSoto's a small no-name town in Kansas, too small to even have its own grocery store. The town's stayed off the Hunter map for nearly 60 years, but when a case brings Dean and Sam to town, they quickly realize that there are other forces at work. The local underground Legion of Hunters are ready to march into action until some out-of-towners interfere...
1. Chapter 1

The sun was gone, having sunk its ripe orange shape below the horizon visible from the stadium. The local football team had lost its fifth consecutive game expectedly, despite being at home. There wasn't a team in the league that could stand up the Louisburg High School football squad's uncanny strength. The beaten, fatigued home team retreated to their locker room as the stars began to twinkle meakly above a layer of thin clouds. The coach of the DeSoto home team frowned at his clipboard. "I just don't understand it, Louisburg had the worst football team in the state two years ago, second only to us."

The team captain piped up from near his dented green locker, "Not to mention we won the first game against them by 60 points this year." He shook his head, "It's just strange Coach."

A few other players snorted, "I remember that game. The band went nuts, screaming they'd finally played 'Wildcat Victory' for a reason."

"Not to mention they almost bit Harry's face off when he told them to play something other than 'The Happy Days Are Here Again'" a manager commented.

"It's called 'The Song'!" A former band member corrected, "The reason we always lose is because you guys refuse to acknowledge saying 'The Song''s actual name is bad luck."

"You band geeks are so weird." the manager sighed.

"I was only in band for one year!" the former member protested.

"Even just a year." Harry said dramatically looking around, "It changes you man, it changes you. The high school band is a dangerous place…"

"Aww, guys knock it off. You know the band doesn't like to be made fun of. You remember what happened to the last guy that offended them." the football captain said in the most mysterious voice he could muster.

An inexperienced freshman dared to ask, "What happened to the last guy?"

Harry gave the new guy a grave look, "Nobody knows. He was never seen again." the senior enjoyed the terrified look on the freshman's face for a moment, "It was worse, much worse…"

The freshman hung onto his every word, "What?"

"They made him sit in front of the trumpet section at a pep band game. Poor old Phillip was never the same." the confused look of the freshman said it all, that didn't seem so bad.

The football team burst out into lighthearted laughter. A loud crash came from outside causing everyone to pause. "What was that?" the team captain inquired unnecessarily.

The DeSoto football squad filed quietly out of the door to the worn down locker room, only to be greeted by a puddle of fresh blood with a trail that lead onward. "Call 911." the coach ordered, pointing to the biggest players on the team, he continued. "Johns, Miller, come on we've got to find the poor sap. They're probably bleeding out."

The large bodied trio traced the trail of bodily fluid to behind the concessions shack. As they rounded the corner of the concessions shack Miller stopped in his tracks, "Do you hear that?" He asked, but both the coach and Johns continued around the corner of the building, not hearing their companion.

An ear- splitting scream pierced the sky. Despite the eerie what Miller had heard earlier he ran around the edge of the building. Laying in front of him were three, bloody, mangled bodies, two of them being the people he was walking with only seconds before. Miller trembled with fear as he heard a low throaty growl from behind him. Slowly turning around he saw an awful creature standing before him. A normal man had teeth the size of fingers and claws that looked like that of an ancient velociraptor was the last image his eyes ever conveyed to his brain.

Logan stood behind the thin bushes, his eyes wide with horror of what they had just witnessed. He took a minute to process it all. One minute he had been getting a hot chocolate to warm his hands and the next he watched a man with fangs and claws tear apart two of his classmates and the head football coach's throats bloodily. With the three victims lay the fourth, even though Logan didn't seen the first as clearly, though he imagined it in his head, just as bad if not worse than the other attacks. After only a minute of blank staring Logan finally thought to run for help. Before getting no more than two steps away, Logan's fears finally caught up with him.

Logan felt nails dig into his leg and pull him back into the darkness where the monster was concealed. Logan never even had time to scream the creature began to tear into his neck. Just as the monster was about to rip Logan's throat apart irreparably, a flashlight appeared around the corner. Dropping his victim's limp head to the ground the nightmarish beast ran off towards the cemetery.

* * *

A/N: Due to the breakdown of , this story will be reposted and updated on this site instead. I would also like to give credit to my coauthor, littlewinchester (or netflix8, on this site). I don't own Supernatural or any of its trademarks.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean and Sam sat across from each other in the dingy diner sipping on hot coffee. Sam was hunched over looking at his small laptop's screen while Dean scoured the newspaper searching for a job. Sam paused, scrolling through a news story. "Hey, Dean. I think I got something." he continued reading after sipping his cooled coffee, "Says here that on the night of Friday, October 10, four people were found dead following the home football game. Another was found critically wounded at the scene. Local law enforcement has no leads, all the bodies were viciously attacked, left mangled with the chests ripped open. The incident has the entire town on edge."

"Sounds like our kind of case." Dean answered folding up the newspaper, "Where?"

"A small town about 12 miles east of Lawrence, DeSoto, Kansas."

Dean groaned, "Why is it always Kansas?" he was in that state more often than any other, often to his disappointment. For a moment Sam thought his brother was going to refuse to go on account of the job's location, being so close to Lawrence, the origin of most of their bad memories. Slowly, Dean pulled out his wallet and removed enough money to cover the tab plus tip. Sighing, he stood, shrugging his jacket on, "Alright Sammy, let's go."

Stepping out of the diner and into the bright fall sunlight, the Winchester brothers quickly made their way across the littered parking lot and toward their favored method of transportation. Hundreds of pounds of pure American muscle, the 1967 Impala sat passively in a space carefully distanced from the other cars in the lot. Unhesitantly, Dean walked up to the waxed black car and unlocked the driver's side door. Sitting down behind the wheel, the older brother reminded himself to unlock Sam's door and proceeded to start the engine as the taller man climbed into the passenger seat, map in hand. "Well Sammy, how do we go about getting to this no-name town?"

"From here hop on westbound Interstate 70, then in Kansas City, get on the 4-35 loop. Once there, we'll have to get on Kansas Highway 10, that should take us right into town."

Dean smiled, there was nothing like a good road trip, just him, the car and the open road. "Buckle up Sammy," Dean said, happily sliding on his sunglasses, "it's a good three hours before we hit Kansas City." The Impala slid smoothly out of the parking lot as Dean arranged for the audio system to play an older Metallica album, ignoring Sam's slightly annoyed huff as the first music notes of the album began to fill the cab yet again.

Knowing better than to say anything, Sam placed the small travel pillow against the window and pressed his head into it, aiming to catch a few zzz's before they arrived at the location of their next job.

Two hours later, the Impala continued to barrel down the worn asphalt road, whisking by browning plant life as the shrinking autumn sun crawled slowly across the sapphire blue sky. Taking another look at his brother, who'd been asleep for the better part of the trip, Dean decided it was time for him to get up. Cautiously, as not to awake Sam quite yet, Dean reached over and placed a plastic spoon acquired from their last drive-thru run and placed it firmly on Sam's nose. Snapping a picture with his phone, Dean cranked the volume on the currently playing Kansas album way up, causing Sam to startle awake. "Wake up Sammy! We're half an hour out of Kansas City, I'm going to need directions to the coroner's office where the victims are located."

With the spoon still attached to Sam's unknowing face, the younger brother squinted at his watch tiredly, "Dean, its only been two hours."

"And we're almost to Kansas City, so rise and shine, Buttercup." Dean told him, grinning at the spoon sticking to Sam's face.

"You drive too fast. It's supposed to take three hours to get to Kansas City."

"That was _before_ I noticed a distinctive lack of cops." Sam rolled his eyes as Dean continued, "And Sam, you got a little something right there…" he indicated playfully to Sam's nose.

Sam quickly brushed the spoon off, glowering at Dean, aggravated. "Not funny, Dean."

Dean held his hands up in mock innocence, laughing, "No, sorry, it was hilarious."

The taller brother sighed exhaustedly, and started to look over the notes he'd taken on the job, yawning, he began to inform his brother, "The four dead victims' bodies are being held at the Johnson County morgue. The survivor is at a local hospital, Saint Joseph Medical Center."

"Let's go to the morgue first, then we can get a grip on what we're dealing with." Dean suggested as the suburban outskirts of the sprawling midwestern city began to flow by. Sam nodded in agreement, and began to give Dean instructions to the morgue.

Pulling into yet another pot-hole filled parking lot, Dean slowed the car to go carefully through a dip. Once parked behind the building, the brothers quietly slipped on a set of cheap suits, making sure to check for their FBI badges. Dean silently checked his gun before the pair headed across the lot and into the building. Unknown to either brother at the time, they were not the only ones with their sights set on the morgue. Another set of young eyes patiently watched the building and the unusual FBI men.

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A/N: I hope everyone is still enjoying this. Thanks again to my kinda-sorta coauthor who sometimes helps.


	3. Chapter 3

Logan opened his eyes to bright lights and unfamiliar surroundings. Where was he? He abruptly remembered the night's events and sat up just in time to heave on an empty stomach. His sudden movement caused him to become aware of a splitting headache and a fiery pain in his neck. Reaching up shakily, he found a wound wrapped cleanly in sterile bandages on his neck and shoulder. Relaxing, he slowly leaned against the back of the bed as he heard someone approach, "Hey Logan! You're awake!" the injured trumpet player turned to see Alejandro, his section leader and close friend as well as a few other band members approach. "Oh man, you had us so worried. What happened?"

Even just the recurring memory caused his stomach to churn, he dropped his gaze, "I don't want to talk about it."

Alejandro shrugged, "Your parents went out to get lunch, asked us to watch you for a while. You gave them a major scare." he looked out the window to the afternoon sun as the rest of Logan's friends surrounded the bed, careful not to bump into any of the medical machines. Alejandro looked back at Logan happy to see he was alright, "We wanted to play some music for you, but the nurses said it'd be too obnoxious."

"They're probably right." Logan smiled, pleased to not be left alone with his thoughts.

Alejandro held his friend's gaze with a sympathetic look, "Logan, I don't want to pressure you, but if you want to talk about what happened on Friday, we're here. The police will come and ask you questions soon, maybe you should practice on us." the trumpet leader said, remembering his friend's discomfort at the mention of the attack, "I'm sure the police would appreciate it if you didn't vomit all over them."

Instinctively, Logan blushed, thinking he'd hid his troublesome stomach well. "I'm feeling tired, I think I'll take another nap." he said, crawling back into the blankets.

"Alright then. You know how to get a hold of me if you change your mind." Alejandro rested a comforting hand on Logan's shoulder before ushering the other visitors out of the door.

Rolling over to let the afternoon sun leaking through the window warm his face, Logan closed his eyes. But everywhere he looked within himself, he only found fear. Would they… would those monsters come for him? He just wanted to run away, and forget this all.

* * *

The dusty barn was filled to capacity with new-comers and those who had been here before. The leader present in the building stood a battered wooden table with a map displaying Johnson County and surrounding areas. Individual farms were marked as well as backwoods trails that criss-crossed the region. On top of the map were cars and little green army men representing the locations of people assisting with the operation. A guy the same age as the leader with sandy blond hair approached the leader from the left, "Alice, Alejandro just called in. Logan woke up. He'll be fine."

Alice brushed a lock of black wavy hair away from her eyes, turning her attention to the young adult that had spoken, "Did he say anything?"

"No." the sandy haired boy replied sorrowly. "Eric just called in from the Johnson County morgue as well. He said some extremely unusual cops just pulled up there."

"Have Alejandro and the trumpets keep an eye on Logan, I'm not sure we should leave him alone quite yet." Alice told him, knowing he would disperse orders to the proper locations, "What made the cops so unusual? Were they Feds?"

"Not unless Federal Agents have a habit of putting on their suits in the parking lot."

"Hunters?" she inquired.

"Eric seemed to think so."

"Hmmm. It appears the town's finally made some headlines." she contemplated, did she dare let Hunters run loose here? "Keep tabs on those Hunters."

A voice called from the front of the barn, "ALICE!" it yelled, "The freshmen want to know what's going on!"

Sighing, she began to move towards the puzzled crowd at the front of the barn. The title of drum major sure kept her busy. She grabbed Logan's trumpet on her way over, coming to a halt five feet from the crowd's front line. She raised her voice to be heard over the barn's ruckus, "Freshmen, I welcome you to Band Headquarters. This is where the real extra-curricular activities occur." She began to pace back and forth, being sure to keep the younger attendees' attention, "As you've probably heard from the upperclassmen or the band handbook, if you bothered reading it, the DHS band does numerous things for this city. Sure we put on a good show here and there, but we also protect it, keep it under the radar. However," she paused her pacing, facing the group, "as of late, the state has cut fine arts funding down to a bare minimum, making our mission a little harder. And now, just last Friday after the game, there was an attack. An attack involving one of our own." she held up the bloody, dented trumpet, earning a few overdramatic gasps. "This cannot be tolerated." the drum major stated.

Someone spoke up from the back of the group, "But it was a trumpet…" the Flute section reminded them of the band's most agitating section.

"Hope," Alice addressed her, "No matter how expendable we may consider trumpets, an unprovoked attack with four other deaths cannot be overlooked." she looked the crowd over, "We're doing reconnaissance, as soon as the perpetrator is found, it will be dealt with accordingly. Your section leaders will inform you more and then you'll be expected to get to your post and report in anything you see that may be important." she walked closer to the crowd, "Alright everybody, put your hands in, we break on one."

They all closed in forming a massive huddle and loudly counted down following tradition before a performance, "Three… Two...One...KICKASS!" they cheered, dispersing.

* * *

A/N: And this is what happens when you let a few band nerds write fanfiction *evil laughter* I should probably move this to the comedy/humor tag...


	4. Chapter 4

Dean and Sam entered the morgue only to find several cops standing around one of the mangled bodies. The brothers had encountered cops and other FBI agents before, but it wasn't something they enjoyed. There had been numerous times they were almost caught, but yet somehow they always seemed to avoid serious consequences.

Sam tried to turn around before any of the policemen could get sight of them, but it was hard to miss the giant that was Sam Winchester. Dean and Sam reached into their jackets and produced their fake badges, quickly flashing them at the officials. They talked confidently, to sound the part, and Sam said, "Hi, this is Agent DeSalle," he pointed to Dean, "and I'm Agent Oberon, we're here about the attacks from Friday night."

Before answering one of the cops glanced at his coworkers with a look of clear confusion, "The Feds are concerned with a couple dog attacks?" he asked.

Afraid that he wasn't going to get to see the bodies before being kicked out, Dean peered around the law enforcement officers to see the gruesome victim. Immediately after spotting the body, he suspected werewolves. The throat of the victim was ripped and torn, leaving the head dangling by only a few bones and pieces of flesh. Dean took in the vicious red oozing claw marks that covered the body from the hips to the top of the head. Sam snapped him out of his mental observation when he answered to the shorter police man, "Normally they don't, but frankly we had some spare time on our hands," Sam smiled, careful to keep a serious gaze on the men, "Now if you don't mind, can we see the victims please?"

The three men snickered under their breath before shuffling out of the room. Pleased with how that gamble had turned out, Sam approached the body studied the injuries that consumed the poor football coach. Just as Dean had, Sam knew within seconds what they were dealing with, "So we have a werewolf running around the town," breathed Sam, continuing to scowl at the victim's remains.

"Yeah, definitely," said Dean as he pulled out the other three bodies. Each of the other victims were in the exact same condition as the first, there was no doubt in Dean or Sam's mind that it was a werewolf. With the chest cavities ripped apart, the heart was missing and the claw marks gave a wide berth to silver jewelry. After taking one last glance over the bodies, the brothers made their way to the lobby to see if they could weasel a couple answers out of the local cops who had been observing the bodies themselves. Dean began asking the questions, "Those bodies don't look like anything I have seen in my day, what do you think did it?"

The tallest of the three chuckled to himself before giving his answer, "It was a dog attack, a very vicious dog, but nothing other than your average pet." Sam stared down at the cops, they weren't your average Kansans, who would gladly welcome you to their town. These guys were rather impolite, much to the brothers' displeasure, who had firmly believed since childhood that Kansans had the best disposition of any state.

"Were there any witnesses?" Sam asked curiously. With a different officer answering the question this time, Sam got his answer, "One, but he's out of his mind. The kid said a person did it, a person with razor sharp fangs and claws like a tigers'," the man snickered, holding a hand in front of his face like a fang before continuing, "Then again he's a band kid, they aren't exactly known for their sanity."

Before the cop could continue, another one interjected, "But you have to admit they are pretty amazing at what they do, sane or not."

Dean looked at all three of them skeptically, they talked about the band like most towns talked about football teams,."The band?" he inquired, "What band?"

The shorter cop answered again, "The DeSoto Wildcat Band. I suppose you out-of-towners wouldn't have heard about them, but they're fairly popular around here. A bit unorthodox, but the people like 'em, they do well for a small school in a no-name town. They've been beating the pants off the widely respected Shawnee Mission schools for years now. I don't think anyone was mad about that, some of those Mission Hills snobs needed to be put back in their place." the cops chuckled at the richer, more prestigious school district's losses, "Anyways, the kid who survived, he's a member of the DeSoto Band. You'll find him at the Saint Joseph Medical Center, room 302."

Dean straightened his suit professionally, "Thank you for your cooperation, Officers. I'll be sure to report it to your superiors." Dean had no intention of confronting the mens' superiors, but the look of knowing they'd messed up in being impolite and unprofessional satisfied him greatly. "Good day, Gentlemen." he excused himself and his partner, and they exited the building into the late daytime sun.

Coming back the route they'd come through the uneven parking lot, the brothers again failed to notice the eyes monitoring their every move. "So," Dean began to speak casually to Sam, "we've got a small no-name town, a high school band that seems a slight bit too well liked, a werewolf and one 'emotionally unstable' member of the aforementioned band that was attacked."

"Hey Dean," Sam said, unaware of the shadow that listened to every word of their conversation, "you don't think the kid that was attacked got bitten?"

"I don't know Sammy." his older brother answered, "But we should be prepared." Sam frowned at the possibility of having to off the surviving victim but knew there was no avoiding it.

The patient spy waited until the duo of Hunters climbed into the car and drove off before standing and retreating to his own vehicle. The petite red headed drum major dialed up the phone number to the barn where he knew someone would be waiting to answer, the old land line rang once before the band's secretary, a junior year student named Morgan answered it, "Hello, you've reached the DHS Band, what can we do for you?"

"Morgan, its Eric. Get Alice, its urgent." he said hurriedly.

A moment later the commanding voice of Alice came over the speaker, "Eric, what's happening?"

"Those two Hunters, their names are Sam and Dean." he recalled the dialogue he'd eavesdropped on, "They're heading towards the hospital where Logan is, they are prepared to kill him if he shows any signs he was bitten during the attack. According to them, the killer was a werewolf."

"Did they give any indication they knew about the cure?" she asked worried for the young trumpet player's safety.

"No, I recommend you get your hands on some of that stuff and find a way to get it to Logan before it's too late."

"We're on it. You have your uniform with you right?" Alice asked.

"Yes…" he answered as it slowly dawned on him what she was planning, "Not again…" she was plotting a distraction the size of well, 160 people dressed in sparkly green uniforms with a bunch of noise makers in hand. He sighed, "I'll follow the Hunters to Saint Joseph and wait there." he hung up and turned the key to his car. The motor didn't start, so he tried again repeatedly until the dumb luck he normally relied upon when it came to his car kicked in and the motor coughed and turned over. The incognito car peeled out of the parking lot, already several miles behind the Hunters' Impala.

Halfway across town, the black oldsmobile pulled into the medical center's busy lot minutes later, followed by a delayed drum major. Dean and Sam headed straight into the hospital still wearing their suits, while Eric and Alejandro met outside. Alejandro looked to the drum major worried, "Will Logan be okay?"

"He should be, Alice is bringing reinforcements along with the cure." Eric told the Trumpet section leader, "You brought your uniform didn't you, we're on distraction duty."

Alejandro realized what was happening at once, "Oh no. Not again…" he said wide-eyed, "She wants us to do another New Orleans."

"Yup. If that's what we're calling it." the drum major replied.

Meanwhile, three stories up, the Winchesters were scouring the hallways for a room 302. Finally, stowing his pride, Dean pulled a nurse aside and asked, "Excuse me, can you direct me to room 302?"

The nurse smiled politely, "Of course mister," she turned to point to the correctly labeled room, only to see that there were two identically labeled room 303s. She chuckled, "Oh those silly band kids. They must've thought a prank like that would let Logan get some rest. The real room 302 would be the 303 on the left, mister. Have a nice day." she departed with the satisfying Kansas kindness the brothers had grown up with.

Opening the door to the band student's room, they stepped inside, Logan's back was to the door, but he figured the visitor was his friend, not two FBI agents, "Hey, Alejandro, I've been meaning to ask, is tonight's band practice cancelled?"

Dean and Sam looked to each other confused, "I believe you may have mistaken us for someone else?" Sam said gently.

Logan turned around, "Oh. Good afternoon."

"Logan, we've come to ask you about the attack on Friday." Sam continued, "Can you tell us anything?"

Logan turned away, "I already told the cops what I saw. They think I'm crazy."

"Logan," Sam said as he and his partner sat down in the chairs facing the bed, "you have my word we'll believe everything you tell us."

Logan sighed, "Oh I should never have transferred schools" he told himself, "Lawrence High School would have been a much healthier location." Dean almost choked on air, _Lawrence? Healthy?_ Every issue he'd ever had in this world seemed to be tied back there. "Well, I had gone to Concessions to grab some hot cocoa after the game while the rest of the trumpets cleaned the stadium." Logan explained, "I took the back way around the Concessions shack to avoid the crowds, but it was hardly empty back there. One of the DeSoto cheer leaders was hanging out with a few guys from the other team, Louisburg. It was rather awkward, and I'm shy so I hid until it was over. Unfortunately, it didn't end half as pretty as I imagined." he shivered at the flashback, "Suddenly, one of the Louisburg players turned into a monster, he snarled at the girl, but she was too shocked to scream. The man was all monster, almost wolf-like as he attacked her…" Logan trailed off.

"And you're sure we're not hearing a reenactment of Little Red Riding Hood?" Dean asked sarcastically, Sam's disapproving look caught him, "Sorry."

"The others, the Louisburg team, they didn't even try to stop that monster of theirs. They let him maul her." Logan continued with a haunted look in his eye, "She was dead before she hit the ground, the evil monster consumed her bloody, beating heart. The thud of her body hitting the ground brought the football coach and two of the Varsity players running, Then the other Louisburg players attacked them too. In a matter of seconds they were all dead. I tried to run for help, but those monsters, they grabbed my leg and pulled me back-" Logan's shuddering and retelling of the horrifying tale of last Friday's football game came to a full and complete stop with a loud crash from outside the building.

The loud thrumming of the drummers could be heard momentarily before the rest of the band joined in, Dean stood up, alarmed by the sudden racket, "What in the world is that?" Peering out the window he could see shifting lines and shapes created by people in sparkly green uniforms complete with bucket hats and plumes glittering in the afternoon sun. Logan smiled from his bed as he watched the band perform the starter of the halftime show. Sam and Dean were both transfixed after Dean recognized the tune being played, "That's Metallica. Awesome."

Unannounced, Alejandro snuck quietly into the room to drop something into the water glass sitting next to Logan on the table, Sneaking back out unnoticed after witnessing Logan take a sip of the water containing the newly delivered werewolf cure Alejandro rejoined the band in the parking lot without a word.

Following the energy pumper halftime opener, the marching band reformed a parade block and continued to march on the large, flat parking lot. The drumline rattled off a series of familiar notes and the band began to chant happily in unison, "WE WANT TACOS!" they turned a sharp corner, "WITH SOUR CREAM!" even Logan began to join in on the students' favorite chant, softly, then louder, "AND HOT SAUCE! NOT A LITTLE BUT ALOT!" coming to a full stop, they quickly finished the chant, "NOW LET'S EAT!"

* * *

A/N: Before anyone says something, I am aware that the werewolf cure is not cannon in the show. But I'm not going for accuracy (that should be apparent due to the type-ohs). I'm just here for fun and hopefully this'll make someone else laugh too...


	5. Chapter 5

Dean and Sam watched captivated as the marching band paraded around the lot while the drumline played a snappy cadence. Sam knew he'd left his mouth open, he couldn't help it a fully dressed shimmering marching band in forest green was most definitely not what he'd been expecting when he'd peered out the clear hospital window. "Who _are _those guys?"

A small part of Dean's mind was already forming a hypothesis of the musical army's identity, but most of his brain was just as dumbfounded as Sam. "I have no idea. But they're crazy." He smiled, "Crazy awesome."

Sam looked worriedly down at the band, "They're going to get run over."

"Don't worry, they'll be fine." Logan told the taller man, "Most cars have the tendency to go in the other direction when faced with the band."

Dean paused, realizing Logan knew the group making a show on the asphalt below, "Wait, you _know _those guys?"

"Yeah." The high schooler answered callously, looking back at the band, "_That_ is the DeSoto High School Band." He chuckled a little bit, "I suppose this is what the nurses get for refusing to let Alejandro and the trumpets come and play."

"I see now what those cops were talking about back at the morgue." Sam said, still watching the parade, "A flash mob in the hospital parking lot isn't exactly normal for a band."

"I guess not." Logan agreed, sipping on a now-cloudy glass of water, "But they're a good group. Tons of fun."

The band dispersed in an orderly fashion and began to vanish into various vehicles. Returning their attention to Logan, both brothers failed to notice the unusually cloudy water in the hospital cup. Sam returned to questioning the kid, "Logan, do you remember anything that happened after the monster grabbed you?"

Logan paled an reached a hand up to the healing wound on his neck, "Pain." He shuddered, "I remember pain."

Dean opened his mouth to ask Logan to specify further, but was interrupted when a Hispanic young man burst into the room panting like he'd just run up twelve flights up stairs, with a golden trumpet and plumed bucket hat in hand. "_Whew!_ Next time my mom tells me band isn't a sport I'm bringing her to class. Roll stepping is hard work!" he finally managed to catch his breath, leaning on the door with a black-gloved hand, "Hey, Logan your mom just signed your release papers. We wanted to know if you're coming to practice tonight."

Again, Sam and Dean were too stricken by the sudden appearance of the fully uniformed trumpet player to protest at all. Logan was unfazed, pleased to get the chance to get out of the white-walled hospital. "Yeah, count me in." the younger trumpet said, "The doctor told me not to hold attention for too long and I may get a little dizzy, but he said I could come."

"Sweet!" Alejandro said, "It's superhero night at practice. Get dressed and I'll take you by your house to get a cape." The trumpeter left the room to let his friend get ready.

Logan looked expectantly at the two men he assumed were cops, "Ummm…" he inquired at the dumbfounded pair, "Would you mind if we finished this later?"

"Huh?" Sam inquired, snapping back into focus, "Oh. Yeah. We'll do that." He took a card from his jacket and handed it to the kid, "Call us if you remember anything."

"Will do." Logan said, squinting at the card as the duo left the room walking in silence as they exited the building.

Only after the brothers got into their trusty black Impala did they look at each other, in confused amazement. "I can't decide if that was the most heartfelt band performance or the most smoothly run distraction operation I've ever seen." Dean said exasperated.

"Ohhhhh. Dean's spidey senses are tingling." Sam teased from the passenger side.

Dean looked seriously at his younger brother, "Just think about it Sammy. The timing was perfect. If someone didn't want Logan questioned, they certainly stopped us from getting the one answer we needed." Realization dawned on the taller man, "We still don't know if Logan was bitten in the attack or not."

"Looks like we'll have to follow him." Sam said, getting his computer out for research, "How hard can it be to find where the local marching band practices in a no-name town?" A quick web search later and Sam answered his own inquiry, "Says here the DeSoto High School Marching Wildcats practice in the shared district stadium on Monday nights." He read off the school website.

"You're kidding." Dean laughed, "This school doesn't even have its own stadium?"

"Not at all, but their band is really good by the looks of it. They've got tons of awards and commendations from the city." Sam informed him, "It's a big band too. Looks like they've got a third of the school participating, that outsizes even some of the larger schools in the region."

Dean gave a face indicating he was contemplating weather he thought that was impressive or not. "Sam," he realized, "It's going to be a little hard to follow people on school grounds, the security is a lot stricter in schools now."

"I'll call Bobby. He may have something." Sam said, "We'd better get on the road though, we should stay near the stadium and make sure Logan doesn't wolf out and bite anyone else."

Wordlessly, Dean shifted the Impala out of park and swiftly pulled out of the hospital parking lot while Sam dialed up their good friend Bobby on his cell. The Impala was already on the two-fane highway heading west when the older man picked up the phone, answering Sam's call. "Hey, Sam. Sorry about the wait, things have been quite busy up here. I'd appreciate it if you two idiots would hurry up and get your tails back here." Bobby's gravelly voice said, a little frustrated that the boys were getting side tracked at every turn.

"Bobby," Sam said soothingly, "We picked up a case on the way back. It shouldn't take too long."

"Balls." The older man said sourly.

"It looks like a werewolf, but we need to keep one of the victims under surveillance, we think he may have been bitten." Sam told him over the phone as Dean drove on the winding highway. "The problem is the kid's a high school student, they aren't going to let us near campus."

"Where'd you boys say you were?" Bobby inquired.

"A little town outside Lawrence, DeSoto, Kansas."

"Oh good." Bobby sighed, "Kansas. The secretary of education there owes me a favor, I can get you guys hooked up with substitute teacher licenses."

"Why does the Kansas secretary of education owe you a favor-?" Sam asked, "Oh. Nevermind." Sam watched the various shades of autumn fly by as they passed though the woodlands common to eastern Kansas. "What about the town, DeSoto? Dean thinks something's up. Have you heard of it?"

"I keep tabs on a lot of the cases around Lawrence for you boys. As far as I know nothing unusual in DeSoto has made the news for the last decade or so." Bobby paused, Sam heard the clicking of a computer mouse over the speaker, knowing Bobby was working on research for them Sam waited patiently, "Now, this is unusual. Up until the 1950's, DeSoto was an extremely supernatural town. There were tons of ghosts, plains Indians, western settlers, accident victims, suicides, murder victims, even soldiers. They had ghouls, vampires, windigos, werewolves, not to mention a large amount of demon activity. Things were bad, it looks like most of the population was scared away, this record puts Lawrence's to shame. During the 1950's supernatural events were cleaned up majorly in the region, in fact up until this point, the city's made the news only twice in the last 60 years. That explains why we've never heard of it, the region itself is fairly supernatural, as we know from Lawrence's frequent issues, but since the 50's, DeSoto's been quiet."

Sam looked at Dean, letting him know that his suspicions may have been right. "Do you think, a local hunter's been keeping tabs on the town?"

Bobby made a noncommittal noise, Sam imagined him pursing his lips and shaking his head in the way only Bobby did. "Looking at this list of problems, there's no way a single hunter, or even a team could clean it up, you'd need an army."

Another meeting in the dusty barn had commenced following the surprise performance at the hospital. Afternoon sun shone lazily down through the old-style barn rafters. It was much quieter this time as only leadership was present, standing around the map table. A few of the army men had moved positions, but most remained positioned strategically at key points in the region to watch for unusual activity. Alice stood at the head of the table, frowning, the newly arrived Eric stood uneasily by her left shoulder. He moved a squeaky toy car back and forth on the table corner while the rest of the section leaders looked to the pair of drum majors for instructions. "How is Logan handling things?" the curly black haired drum major asked the trumpet player standing in for Alejandro.

"Well, for a transfer student." The trumpeter answered, "He's hardly said a word to Alejandro about the incident, but Alejandro seems to think that he still has no idea what the band does out of school activities."

"I feel kind of bad for keeping him in the dark." Hope said from the opposite end of the table.

"We're not keeping him in the dark." Alice reminded the Flute section leader, "We're keeping him not afraid of the dark."

"Besides, Hope," the alto saxophone section leader called, "you know as well as I do transfer students won't accept the truth. They just don't understand."

"Also," the trumpeter interrupted again before the exchange of words could grow into banter, "Alejandro confirmed that it was indeed the Hunters, Sam and Dean, that were questioning Logan at the time of our interruption."

"What of the Hunters?" Alice asked, scowling deeper, if possible. It had been a long time since DeSoto had been in this much hot water.

"A clarinet just called in. They're headed west bound on K-10 driving a black old-style Chevy." Without being asked, the person who had answered placed another toy car on the map, a little black one, on the map in the correct position.

"Keep tabs on them." Alice instructed. "Have there been any leads on the werewolves?"

A unanimous, "None." Rose up from the group.

"It's as if they're not even within the region we're searching." The alto leader said quietly.

"Any ideas on tracking them down?" the drum major asked.

"We could pull in a favor from Officer Woodsworth and get the surveillance tapes from the stadium." The clarinet leader suggested.

"No way!" Hope argued, "Have you got any idea what he might ask in return?"

The trumpet stand-in gritted his teeth at the flutist's inflexibility, "Yeah." He said sarcastically, "He may ask us to play at his daughter's wedding again, or at every county parade for the next five years."

A few mutterings started up, but Alice cut them off sternly, "Do it. We need to get to the bottom of this and fast." She said, "We can't afford to let Hunter society be aware of our work in the region. It would undoubtedly result in unwanted attention.

* * *

A/N: To the readers, I think were may be some horizontal breaks missing in the story (not just this chapter). That is probably super confusing. I'll work on fixing that


	6. Chapter 6

The slightly dusty 1967 Chevrolet Impala barreled down the highway at high speeds easily matched by the rest of the Kansas driver. Dean was tapping happily along with Metallica with his sunglasses on as he drove into the sun, following Sam's careful directions to the state capital. Simultaneous to their movement, a black toy car was carefully shifted along a map in a dusty barn miles of road away. As the little toy car was slowly shoved along the miles of road to Topeka, finally the Hunters were becoming a less prominent threat to the band's operations. In their temporary absence, the search was going into high gear and back at the school a certain deal was going down between Officer Woodsworth and another of the band's drum majors.

The broad shouldered school enforcement officer had an impressive white handlebar mustache that twitched when he spoke, "So, you want the footage of behind the concessions shack for last Friday's game."

"That's right." The student council president and drum major answered with an easy smile. "The band's agreed to do you one favor in return."

"I'm not going to pretend I don't know why you want that footage." The officer said, "You want to go after the boys that almost got the new kid killed."

Marissa didn't see the point in lying to the officer, he knew about the band's nighttime adventures. "That's the plan." She sighed.

"And y'all are sure you don't want to step back and let the professionals handle this?" he asked looking down at the brunette.

"The last time Hunters took a case in this town was over 60 years ago. I don't see a point in breaking that streak now. There's a fragile peace now, I think outsiders would upset that." She looked around at the clueless teachers wandering the halls sometimes accompanied by students were also just as uninformed of the monsters that sulked in every dark corner. "Not to mention, the attack on Logan makes it an internal affair. We'll handle it."

"If you say so." Officer Woodsworth held up a tape in his hand, "One recording of the back of the concessions shack last Friday in exchange for one favor." He traded the tape for a signed piece of paper.

"Officer, do you have any idea what you may ask the band to do this time?" Marissa inquired, wanting to book one of the other drum majors for the event

The big man looked dreamily into the distance, "I was thinking I might have y'all come and spruce up the block party this year." Any and all dreams of coming out of this easily, were crushed in Marissa's mind. If there was one thing the school enforcement officer knew, it was how to get his money's worth out of a favor.

* * *

"I cannot believe you idiots!" the coach screamed into the purple painted locker room. The werewolf Louisburg Football team looked at each other in confusion. The Louisburg coach paced back and forth infuriated. "You just had to go and grab a snack after the game didn't you?!"

"Well, Coach," a football player said dumbly, "We were hungry and that cheerleader was just asking to be eaten."

The coach interrupted pacing across the purple floor, "And their football coach and varsity players too?"

Assorted nods and "Yeah"s echoced throughout the crowded room.

The Louisburg football captain intervened smartly, "Coach, they saw us feeding on the cheerleader, we couldn't let them live."

"AND THE BAND STUDENT?!" the coach howled angrily, "DO YOU CARE TO EXPLAIN HOW THE BAND STUDENT LIVED?!"

An awkward pause followed the Coach's outburst, "Coach, I'm sorry. We were going to deal with him, I swear. But that Band Director came over with his flashlight, and we panicked."

The coach gnashed his teeth, continuing to pace angrily, "It wasn't enough for you to just walk away before attacking the band student, was it? No, you were hungry and wanted him too."

"Coach, we said we're sorry." Another player spoke up.

"SORRY DOESN'T EVEN BEGIN TO COVER IT!" the older man yelled, "You've couldn't have gotten hungry somewhere else? Olathe? Manhattan? Paola?" the coach rubbed his temples, "We could have handled the Hunters. But no, you had to decide to snack in DeSoto of all the places." He looked back to the purple team, "Do any of you even listen to me? I specifically said, do not grab prey anywhere east of Lawrence, south of the river or north of the Flint Hills."

"Aww, but coach," a player spoke up against his better judgment, "DeSoto's just a no name town, with a no name school. Who's gonna care if a few people are killed?"

"I warned you not to feed there. Now you've brought the hornet's nest down upon us." The coach turned away, "And with that band student involved, rest assured we'll be seeing purgatory soon."

The player who'd just spoken laughed, "So who cares, DeSoto's got plenty of band students."

"WHO'S GONNA CARE?" the coach screamed finally losing his last strands of patience, "I'LL TELL YOU WHO'S GOING TO CARE! THE DESOTO BAND WILL CARE!" Again, the players looked at each other confused, so what if a few band nerds were mad, "Unfortunately for us, DeSoto's got the most sophisticated defense system against the Supernatural I've ever even heard of. And the front of that organization is the only team that doesn't completely stink at that school, the Band!" the coach said, knowing the danger, "Thanks to attack on the band student, they're coming directly after us." The coach explained the issue and the team began to grasp it with frightening clarity. They were preparing for war.

* * *

The dusty black car came to a halt in the parking lot of the Kansas capital building. Dean squinted up at domed building's greenish tint, "Man, that thing sure hasn't changed at all."

"No kidding." Sam agreed, "They've even got that statue still on top. What exactly did they spend so much time remodeling?"

"I don't think it was the politics, seeing as this state still goes Republican every election." Dean replied as the brothers cut across the sunny parking lot to the grasses where the domed building stood. The pair walked around the building's edge until they found a man sitting alone on a marble bench, just as Bobby had said they would.

Sam smiled down at the man like a friendly giant while the little old man met his gaze through thick glasses. "Are the secretary of education?" the younger brother inquired.

"Kansas Secretary of Education, Mr. Brown at your service." The brothers shook the little man's hand politely, "I take it you are Bobby Singer's friends?"

"That's right." Sam told him.

Mr. Brown closed his eyes and handed over the brown paper sack, "Two officially registered substitute teachers' licenses, as promised." Dean took the bag carefully while the secretary of education stared at the ground, "I should've known that man wouldn't ask for anything legal, I may lose my job because of this, but a promise is a promise."

Sam looked sincerely at the man with his puppy dog eyes, "Thank you Mr. Brown. Think of it this way, we're helping save lives." The education secretary waved him off and shuffled away, leaving the brothers to make their way back to the car and check out the bag's contents.

With Dean back in the driver's seat of the Impala, Sam removed the two plastic from the stealthy bag across his lap. He held them up to the light, squinting at the fine details that made the licenses legal. "We're good to go." The younger brother said, handing Dean his card. "Looks like Bobby used our agent names again. I'm Oberon, you're DeSalle."

"Easy enough to remember." Dean told him appreciatively. "We need to get moving though if we want to keep an eye on that kid, Logan."

"Yeah," Sam answered, stowing the substitute teachers' license, "Let's go."

The Impala peeled out of the asphalt lot unquestioned as it proceeded back to the highway it had come in on. Nearly an hour later, as the sun sank below the horizon line, the Impala pulled into the beat-up middle school lot that lead to the DeSoto School Dictrict's shared stadium. Dean passively shifted the dusty car into park and rolled down a window making sure they had a clear line of sight to the stadium. It was nearly a half an hour before they saw any kind of movement, peering through their binoculars. But even then, it was just a few equipment managers preparing for practice. The sun continued to slowly sink and the stadium lights were turned on at band members began to show up in waves, assembling in small groups on the track. Sam and Dean were so busy spying on the band that they didn't notice when a pasty white figure snuck right up to driver's side door of the Impala and sought to gain the brothers' attention.


	7. Chapter 7

"Psst!" came a noise from outside the car in the warm evening, Dean and Sam ignored the noise, focused on watching the large assembly of band students that was beginning to cluster on the track. "Psst!" the pasty white figure tried again.

Sam squinted through the binoculars, "Dean, check out what they're wearing."

Dean began to study their clothing at Sam's comment, confused to find most of the students had capes tied to their shoulders and some had full-blown costumes on, "What in the world…?" Dean muttered.

"It's super hero theme night at practice." A pale white figure said, appearing next to the window so fast Dean jumped and pulled his silver gun on the young man.

Upon seeing the gun, the pasty white fellow grinned, "Oh sweet! You're the FBI, you got my message." Uninvited the young man opened the driver's side rear door and climbed in, "So you guys are here to watch the band right?" the brothers looked at each other in genuine surprise, "I'm telling you, there's something up with that band."

Dean turned around in his seat, stowing his gun since the man didn't seem like much of a threat, "And who are you?"

The pasty intruder flushed, realized he'd forgotten to introduce himself in his hasty appearance, "Phillip Jon VanSprout the third, community watch dog and proud Half-Norwegian." He extended a friendly hand to the front seat, "And you are?"

The brothers hesitantly accepted the handshake, "Special Agents DeSalle and Oberon."

The Half-Norwegian leaned back against the seat, "So you guys are here to keep an eye on the band?" Sam and Dean nodded, "I'm telling you something's up with them. All those secret meetings in that old barn, something is just a little past normal weird with them."

Sam looked at Dean, shielding his eyes from the flaring setting sun, "Secret meetings in the old barn?" things were again beginning to smell distinctly wolf-like to the brothers.

"You guys didn't know about that?" Phillip leaned forward with a glint in his eye and all the enthusiasm of a girl about to spill a large amount of gossip on someone she didn't like. Dean sent a quick glance of annoyance toward Sam who returned it with a look that told his older brother to be patient. "So there's this old barn on the Zimmerman property, and the band has taken a liking to meeting up there. There's been someone there almost 24/7 since last Friday, but even before then, that old barn saw an absurd amount of action. I've never seen the inside, but it seems like a headquarters of some kind, they've got phone lines and power out there now." The young man proceeded to clean his glasses, "There's something suspicious about that band." He replaced the glasses on his wide nose, "It seems like they've been on extra-high alert since that transfer student got hurt Friday, there's been a lot more action than what I've come to expect." "Ufdah!" said the Half-Norwegian before bolting up out of the car, "Keep up the good work agents, I'll be in touch." He said before departing abruptly.

Dean looked at Sam horrified, "Is it just me, or is this town bursting with weirdoes?"

"They do seem to have some colorful characters." The younger brother said, back to studying the stadium. "Dean, you don't think that entire band could be a werewolf pack?"

"At this point Sam, I don't know what to think." Dean answered, "There's just too many coincidences. The murders, the distraction at the hospital and the secret meetings in the abandoned building."

"But why would a werewolf pack attack one of their own?" Sam asked, it didn't make sense.

At that moment a tap come from the window in Sam's side, he looked out to see another person had snuck up on them. Sam was surprised to see it was the trumpeter, Alejandro, who'd interrupted them at the hospital. This time he wore a molded Batman costume in place of his snazzy green uniform. Logan stood shyly behind the tanner band student's shoulder wearing a towel cape tied loosely around his shoulders. Sam rolled down the window, not seeing the point in trying to hide now. Alejandro smiled genuinely, "Hey, you guys are the cops that were talking to Logan back at the hospital right?" The brothers nodded slowly and the trumpeter carried on, "It's great you guys came out here to keep an eye on things, everyone is terrified because of last Friday. We feel alot better with you here." Alejandro lied convincingly, "But, don't you think it'd be easier to keep an eye on things if you were in the stadium? We do let people come watch practices you know."

Sam and Dean looked at each other coming to the silent agreement that closer was better to the group of suspicious individuals congregating in the stadium. The brothers got out of the oldsmobile, Dean taking a moment to notice the car needed a good wash and waxing. It would be his first priority when they got back to Bobby's he decided.

Taking the keys, Dean unlocked and propped open the trunk. It was full of things sure to get them arrested on school property. Crosses, jugs of holy water, holy oil and car oil, containers of lighter fluid, knives of all types and guns were strewn haphazardly about the trunk. Sam shoved a large bucket of rock salt to the side as they rummaged around, grabbing anti-werewolf weapons.

While the pair of Hunters grabbed weaponry from their car's trunk, Alejandro whipped out his ever-reliable flip phone and typed faster than the wind as he sent a series of messages to Alice who was already in the stadium. **'Alice, those Hunters are here. The same ones from the hospital we tracked to Topeka. I invited them to watch practice so we could keep an eye on them.'** he typed and sent the message.

Alice responded in typical high-school fashion an unbelievably short time later, **'WHAT!?'** the yell that had probably accompanied her reception of the information could be heard clearly in Alejandro's head.

**'****Yeah.'** he responded, **'I'm also pretty sure they think we're werewolves. Like the entire band…'**

His phone buzzed with a response to his latest message, but he didn't have time to check it as the Hunters appeared from behind their car with a duffel bag slung over each of their shoulders. The shorter of the two eyed the phone in Alejandro's hand suspiciously. "My mother." Alejandro said, waving the phone around, "You know how they are, wanting to know what you're up to every hour of the day." He unknowingly scratched at one of the brothers' most sore subjects.

Dean and Sam pursued their lips at the thought of their ever-absent mother. Dean rolled his eyes, "Whatever." The quartet of people began to shuffle towards the stadium entrance as Alejandro sadly realized this was going to count as a tardy because he'd stopped for the Hunters.

* * *

Alice screeched at Alejandro's message, sprinting to the ladder at centerfield, she climbed on top and blew her whistle as loud as possible. The band broke up from sectionals and meandered to the region below the ladder as Alice yelled, "Hustle up everyone!" Once the cluster of people was dense enough for everyone to be within earshot, she continued to yell, "Listen up everyone! I just got word from Alejandro that we're going to have an audience at practice tonight." a few heads perked up at that, but not to the desired effect, "A Hunter audience." she clarified and the band went rigid and quiet. "Now, they already think something's up about us, they're wrong, dead wrong, about their suspicions, but that won't stop them from making a move if we're not careful." she made eye contact with the section leaders she could find, letting them know they were going to have to be strict, "These geniuses think we're a pack of werewolves." she said referring to the Hunter duo, "So everyone, just act like normal people. Do not growl at, scratch or bite each other." She pointedly at the Flutes, a section that spent most of its free-time fighting among itself.

Alice looked around, wondering what could have lead the monster-fighting pair to the conclusion the odd group below her was a pack of werewolves. Spotting a tuba player wearing a head-to-toe furry Chewbacca costume, she sighed, perhaps it wasn't such an outlandish idea...


	8. Chapter 8

Note: The best way to describe this chapter is I believe a quote from the band, Foreigner, in their song Long, Long Way From Home. "It was a Monday..."

* * *

The Winchester brothers followed the caped trumpeters into the stadium. The sun was mostly gone, leaving the crisp lighting of the stadium to illuminate the clusters of people standing around on the track and on the field. A caucus of sound washed over the siblings, an unsynchronized mess where each group seemed to be blaring its own tune. The brothers followed Logan and Alejandro along the bouncy track intending to head for the metal stacks that represented the stadium seats.

Alejandro and Logan were intercepted before they made it past the ramp to the seats by a quartet of other individuals. Sam recognized the individuals' title by the silver whistles dangling on their necks long before Dean had even the faintest clue. There was an unspoken exchange of small nods between Alejandro and Alice before she spoke to Logan. "Hey, Logan." She greeted, pleased to note that the transfer student looked well, "I hope you remembered your water bottle. We're looking at a long practice tonight."

The sophomore squirmed uncomfortably underneath the attention of all four of the band's drum majors as the Winchesters stayed back a few feet, trying to avoid detection. Logan slowly held up his pea green Camelback water bottle with his uninjured hand, keeping his trumpet at his side with his other arm.

The youngest drum major, a bubbly blond eleventh grader named Jaycee happily volunteered to take the water container over to the bleachers for him. She took the bottle from his grasp, "I'll put this with the other trumpets'." She told him, "You'd better get over there," she pointed to the trumpet section standing in the middle of the field, "pass-offs for Wanted Dead or Alive are due."

After a little push from Alejandro, Logan slowly made his way over to the rest of his section. Slyly beyond the trio of remaining drum majors, Jaycee unscrewed the lid of Logan's Camelback water bottle and dropped another pinch of the werewolf cure into the drink, causing the water to cloud up. It was likely that Logan was already back cured due to the dosage back at the hospital, but seconds never hurt anyone. And the band couldn't be too careful with the situation.

Sam had been intently studying their surroundings, this time attentive to notice when Jaycee dropped put something into Logan's water bottle. He tapped Dean's hand and tried to get his brother to look in that direction, but Dean was momentarily distracted as Alejandro shifted from his position of blocking the brothers' view of the drum majors.

Jaycee rejoined the lineup as both brothers stared at the quintet of four Wonder Women and one Batman. Sam let his mouth drop open as he looked at the drum majors. All four of them the curly haired one, a brunette, a blond and a petite red-headed male wore identical Wonder Woman costumes, skirts, lassos, tall, shiny boots, headbands and shirts included. Dean and Sam were frozen at the gall of the red-headed guy. The costume was fine on the girls, but the male drum major didn't even wear leggings or a shirt underneath. Quite a sight with his pale skin, yet he wasn't even receiving a second glance from most of the passing band members. Even the band director passed without comment.

It was at that moment that deep down Dean began to fear this group, the band. Not even he, Mr. Guts-of-Steel dared to wear a skirt, especially not the entire costume of a female heroine out in public. He wasn't sure he wanted to cross a group that had a petite male fearlessly cosplaying Wonder Woman, let alone another male disguised as Cat Woman in a black leotard and tutu with ears, a tail and face paint that was also within sight. The entire group as 'queso loco' as they may be, undoubtedly did not fear much. And with numbers over a hundred, Dean found himself wondering what exactly he was thinking about doing, something that would probably incur the group's wrath, he realized dismayed.

Sam viewed this entire occurrence as chaos. It swirled around him in droves. They called this mayhem practice? To be frank, Sam was viewing the entire group as idiots. Only crazy people ran around in cross-gender costumes, let alone in costumes in general. It was band practice not a Halloween party. Or so he'd been told. Had he not been born and raised polite Kansan, Sam would've curled his lip with discontent at the lot scattered around the track.

After recovering from the initial shock of the cross-dressed drum major, there was an awkward staring contest between the band's hierarchy and the Hunters. Neither group said anything under the starry sky. A whistle call came from across the field as the band director called over the sound system the equipment managers had previously set up. "Alright guys! Record pass-offs in the grade book and go to the pre-game start block. Then we'll warm up with Remington's!" The clusters began to disperse and people began to meander across the field, "Quickly!" The director barked and the band picked up its pace.

Three of the drum majors and Alejandro stalked off, heading towards the block that was forming on the opposite end of the field. That left just the curly haired one, Alice, staring down the brothers. "I hope you boys brought water, I don't want to have to give out band-allotted resources just because you got thirsty." She said coldly.

Dean held the gallon jug of holy water up so it was within view. The drum major nodded, pivoted and stalked away to join the rest of the band, leaving the Winchesters to forge their own path across the unevenly patched track. Sam nearly tripped on multiple occasions, when a quiet bout of laughter could be heard from the stadium's other occupants. Dean was getting the uncomfortable sense that they were being watched, their every move was being measured in threat levels. But the eldest brother's discomfort quickly faded, the brothers sat on the metal benches, they were dented, scratched and for the most part wiggly, Sam tested his carefully, untrusting, while Dean plopped right down, content to watch the irregularly dressed band practice making patterns on the field below.

As the high school band's loud, full sound filled the stadium, Dean felt his defenses slip on account of the songs being played following DeSoto's fight song. First it was the tune they'd heard at the hospital, Metallica's Breadfan, then it was Wanted Dead or Alive on repeat for several minutes as the band brushed up on their sets. Dean wasn't even mad, his hostilities melted away as he heard the first few notes of the Rush mega hit, Tom Sawyer wash over him. Dean's bliss was short lived as Sam fought to gain his brother's attention, "Not now Sam." He swatted his brother's prodding hand away.

"Dean, it's important." He argued.

A few seconds later Sam's persistence had the ear of a very irritated Dean. "Alright Sam. What is it this time? Lose your shoe down a storm drain again? Been sipping on demon blood?"

The shaggy-haired Winchester flushed at the mention of his previous mishaps. "Ahh, no." he answered lifting his leg to give Dean evidence of his shoes' presence, "It's about this job. I don't think you saw it, but that blond girl slipped something into Logan's drink."

At first he was unconcerned, "Drugs?" Dean inquired.

Sam pondered that, but proceeded to make his suggestion anyway. "I was thinking more along the lines of poison."

That snapped Dean out of his dream-faze with surprising efficiency, he yelled at an explicative ferociously, "I forgot all about that!"

Sam rolled his eyes, "Obviously."

"Sam, we have to get Logan away from these guys, before they off him for good."

"But he could be a werewolf…" Sam protested

Dean shrugged, "It's a chance we'll have to take."

* * *

A/N: On another note, I am super new to this site, excuse any strange formatting please. Also, that before note probably made no sense to most of anyone, but its a Monday in the story...


	9. Chapter 9

Dean and Sam hardly had time to plot anything before the band director called for a water break. They leapt into action with a half-hatched plan and a barrel full of good intentions. They sprinted down from the bleachers, managing to intercept Logan before he swallowed the water. "Logan! No! Don't drink that!" The teen paused long enough in his drink to have the water bottle swatted from his grasp my Sam's long arms.

Confused, the trumpeter spat out his drink, "Agents, is there a problem?"

"Heck yeah!" Dean answered, "That water would've killed you!"

Logan looked to the younger brother, a tall man he thought was named Agent Oberon for clarification. "Did you swallow any of that water?" Sam asked calmly, and Logan shook his head, "Good, now can you tell me, did the water taste strange?"

"It tasted like dirt." Logan said unimpressed, but when that piqued the brothers' interest more than it should've, he continued, "The water here always tastes bad. Be it a metal, chlorine or muddy aftertaste, leave it to DeSoto to have the sketchiest, worst-tasting water of all time."

A moment of silence commending the subject of the city's sketchy water supply was present before Sam grabbed Logan's forearm, "Logan, that water was poisoned! Come on, let's get out of here." It seemed to register on neither sibling that they were jumping to conclusions faster than a frog jumped between lily pads.

"Don't be ridiculous! No one would want to poison me." Sam was a silent giant as he forcefully started to drag the high schooler away. "Hey!" Logan protested, "Let go of me!" He tried to jerk his arm away, and the band, momentarily distracted by the appearance of hot chocolate, was inattentive to his struggles.

Logan tried to stomp on Sam's feet, forcing the larger man to let him go but Dean grabbed his other side and the trio started to move away at a faster pace. Despite his distress, Logan showed no signs of starting to wolf-out, which the brothers took as a good sign.

As they dragged the trumpet player away against his will, his flailing legs made contact with the fence surrounding the stadium, resulting in a loud _CLANG!_ It was at that point that the Hunters finally started to attract the attention of the band, who started to move in their direction. But the Winchesters had a good head start, nearly an entire side of the track. By the time the band had reached the entrance and exit to the stadium, the Hunters had reached their car and tossed Logan in the backseat. They go in on their own sides of the Impala in a hurry and slammed the doors shut.

The drum majors pushed to the front of the crowd that had congregated near the fence. They all held styrofoam cups in their hands as they watched the black car peel out of the school lot. Melissa stared after the Hunters with the rest of the drum majors, "Well that was…" she calmly searched for the correct word, "Unexpected."

_"__No me digas." _Jaycee retorted sarcastically saying 'you don't say' in Spanish.

The tuba player in the Chewbacca costume spoke up, standing nearby, "Did one of our trumpeters just get kidnapped?"

Several other students nodded, "Yes."

For a moment no one spoke, the entire band looked at the road, calmly sipping hot chocolate. Hope was next to speak to the irritation of most others, "Oh just wait until Mr. Bradford hears about this one."

"Just wait until I hear about what?" the band director asked, coming to see what the mass of students were all looking at.

"One of the trumpets just got kidnapped." Came the callous reply and the band director paled, knowing this was something that was definitely getting reported to his superiors.

The group sipped on their hot cocoa, watching the old style Chevy vanish into the night. "Shouldn't we give chase or something?" Eric asked passively.

"What are you going to chase them in?" Marissa inquired, "That?" she pointed to Eric's own vehicle, a sedan that looked to be held together entirely by duct tape. It didn't look sturdy enough to go high speeds without falling apart.

The petite red head huffed, reciting a line he heard once in a movie, "Please, what do you take me for, an amateur?" he asked, "We would chase them in that so we have enough people to launch a rescue." The rest of the band's gazes followed his pointed finger to the school bus lot adjacent to the stadium.

"Don't you have to be 21 or older to drive a bus legally?" Jaycee asked, oblivious to the state's motor laws. "We don't have anyone 21 or over here."

Slowly coming to realization, the drum majors turned to the band director, who as it turned out was over 21 years of age. He shook his head adamantly, "No. Absolutely not." Jaycee tried to give the director puppy-dog eyes and guilt trip him into assisting their somewhat debatably illegal plan of borrowing a school bus. Mr. Bradford quickly changed the subject, "You guys _do _know who took Logan right?" He looked to the expanse of students around him, they didn't seem to be following his train of thought, "So you can go get him?" he prodded, receiving more blank stares, "_Before_ he gets hurt?"

At last they nodded, a few people muttered "Right." Or "Of course." But the band was not overly enthusiastic.

"Oh, I don't think we'll have to worry about those two hurting Logan." Alejandro appeared hefting two duffels over his shoulders, "They won't do much without these, I'm willing to bet." The tan Batman dropped the bags to the ground, letting their contents spill out onto the track. Knives, flashlights and spades glittered in the sun while salt canisters cast shadows onto the shallow contours of the track. In their hurry to grab Logan, the Hunter pair had forgotten every piece of werewolf-killing gear they had in the duffels located on the stands.

A few snorted at the Hunters' mistake as Mr. Bradford's eyes locked onto an object poking out from inside the equipment bags. "Is that a gun?" he inquired uneasily.

"What?" Alejandro followed the director's gaze to the silver weapon and knelt to examine it, "Oh, yeah, looks like it." The trumpet section leader picked up the projectile weapon and kept the barrel pointed safely downward as he checked the chamber, "Hmm, it was loaded too." The Senior added as the silver-coated bullets tumbled from their positions.

"You should probably remove that from school-grounds…" the band director trailed off wondering just what exactly he'd himself into when he'd taken this job, his friends had warned him DeSoto's habits were a bit strange. They had no idea. Mr. Bradford himself only knew of some of the band's extravaganzas, but he knew enough. He was still new to the job and knew better than to throw himself headlong into the middle of a fray he knew nothing about. He had heard something had gotten the band edgy, not to mention they'd been busy since last Friday. He realized now that the Hunters were undoubtedly the cause of the unease, and unhappily dismissed practice for the benefit of getting the Hunter business wrapped up. "We're ending practice for tonight early on one condition."

That had the entire band's attention faster than anything he'd said before, and a simultaneous, "What?" rose up.

"Go get the transfer student before his parents notice he's missing." Mr. Bradford told them.

"Actually, Logan's parents are on a three-day trip to Texas, some family emergency. They won't know he's gone…" Hope supplied the information somewhat helpfully.

The band director's face said it all, he was not pleased. And fearing a bout of band push-ups at the next rehearsal, they nodded, "We'll do that first thing." Melissa assured him as the student group scampered away.

A trumpet blared the _Charge!_ tones as someone else called out, "Meet up at the barn!"

* * *

A/N: Grammar is not my best subject, as you can probably tell by now. First (true) update on this site so yay! And I don't own anything Supernatural mentioned in here so please don't sue me...


	10. Chapter 10

"Shut up, kid." Dean told the sophomore in the backseat.

Trying to squirm into a more upright position, the third passenger of the Impala was anything but quiet, "Let me go!" The band student continued to protest, "I don't care if you are federal agents! Let me go!" he yelled, "You can't keep me here without my consent!"

The patched pavement gave way to gravel beneath the car's wheels, "Do us all a favor and be quiet." Dean growled as the Impala sped even further into the sparse housing and farming region that laid south of DeSoto.

"Not until you let me go!"

"Sam, do something." Dean's nose was flared, signaling a lack of patience, "He does not seem to understand that we are trying to help him."

Intending to gag the annoyance with a rag, Sam turned around in the seat to search for the duffel bags in the backseat. Not seeing them, he looked back to Dean as Logan continued to throw a fit in the background. "Dean, where'd you put the duffels?"

"_I_ didn't put the bags anywhere." Dean answered, "You were supposed to grab them."

"No I wasn't." Sam responded with attitude expected from a teenage drama queen.

"Well, great Sammy." Dean gritted his teeth and pressed down on the gas, forcing the Impala to go even faster yet, "Now we have no werewolf-killing weapons."

"Werewolf-killing weapons?" Logan piped up, confused.

"Not now, Logan." The brothers shut him down simultaneously.

"I cannot believe you." Dean told his younger brother, "How hard is it to grab two duffels?" he wrapped his hands around the wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Sam snorted, "This is your fault! You're the one who was so captivated by hearing the band play REM or whatever it was!"

"It was Rush and it was your turn to carry the bags!" the brothers stared each other down and proceeded to ride in an angry silence.

Logan took advantage of the pair's feud to ask, "Can I go now?"

"No!" they answered before sinking back into their heated silence. If that band decided to give chase, neither brother pictured a pretty ending. Against a pack that size without weapons, they were toast, with oozing strawberry-red jelly.

* * *

The contents of the Hunters' duffels had been dumped onto a table about six feet from the map table into the musty barn. The silver weaponry, holy water jugs and salt canisters indicated the pair had been ready for just about anything short of the apocalypse. The knives and silver coated bullets were the tools of a professional Hunter, to the band's dismay the duo seemed to know what they were doing. The sheer amount of munitions that had been emptied from the bags covered nearly the entire plastic picnic table, "You know, I wouldn't be surprised if this was every piece of werewolf-killing material those Hunters had." Alejandro said, looking at the table. A few of the present section leaders nodded thoughtfully, waiting for the drum majors to reveal the search and rescue plan. The rest of the band sat in the front part of the barn talking or playing assorted games. Whispers and the occasional bout of laughter from the group playing Apples to Apples drifted in the direction of the leadership team. A louder set of giggles caused the section leaders to look towards the faction playing an intense game of Twister. The red-headed mellophone player named Colton was locked in an awkward position still wearing his ballerina Cat Woman costume. His only Twister competitor still on the mat was dressed in a clearly homemade Superman costume while the stubborn pair was refed by Gilbert in a full-on Jedi outfit. A shift in the Superman's position caused Colton to hiss.

The four drum majors stood around the map table in quiet discussion. On occasion, one would point intently to a location on the map, leading to a continuation of the debate. Back at the table covered in Hunter weaponry a tuft of hay fell onto the center of the weapons. The section leaders looked up, trying to locate the cause of the falling hay.

The barn's owner, moving about in the loft seemed to notice he'd accidentally sent some hay tumbling down into the barn's busy lower levels and paused looking down, "Sorry about that fellas!" he called.

"It's not a problem!" Alejandro responded, squinting up at the farmer, "What are you doing up there Seňor Zimmerman?"

The farmer continued to pitch hay out the loft window into a waiting truck bed, "I'm working on cleaning out the loft so y'all can use it if you need to."

"That'll be great!" the alto saxophone leader called up, they didn't necessarily need the extra space, but it'd be nice to have, "Thanks again for letting us use your old barn!"

"Think nothing of it!" the farmer answered, "I use the new one now, and I owe y'all for taking care of that possessed donkey earlier this year, and let's not forget that crossroads demon!" the farmer smiled happily down, "Besides I told y'all you could use it as much as you wanted if you got rid of that pesky ghost!" The agreement had been struck between the land owner and band a few years back when the band had started to be unable to have meetings in the band room thanks in part to the pesky half-Norwegian and the fact that 160+ people didn't fit well in the smallish room with instruments. The band helped the farmer out with his frequent supernatural issues and they got to use the barn.

The farmer went back to work and accidentally flung another chunk of hay to fall from the barn's upper loft. This time the yellow straw landed on top of the duo still continuing their intense game of Twister, causing the Superman to sneeze and fall taking Cat Woman dressed Colton with him into a heap of undoubtedly sprained limbs.

At long last, the drum majors broke up their discussion and approached the other table, gaining the full attention of the section leaders. "Alright guys," Alice said in a tone that warned the others not to interrupt, "We're putting the hunt for the werewolves on hold until we recover Logan. He may be a trumpet and he may be a transfer student, but that does not mean we are going to leave him to the Hunters' whims."

Alejandro tried not to look to hurt at the constant bashing of his section as Marissa took over the briefing, "Luckily, the city of DeSoto's only traffic camera managed to catch video of a black 1967 Chevrolet Impala with a Kansas KAZ 2Y5 license plate heading south out of town, which narrows our search range considerably." No one asked how they had managed to get access to the city's only traffic camera, chances were it had probably been in exchange for another favor or done illegally with help from the computer geeks.

"We'll divide up into sections and search for them. Once you find the Hunters, do not approach. Call it in on your radio and wait for at least two more groups before attempting a rescue." Jaycee and Eric pulled out the heavy-duty radios and passed them out to the section leaders as Alice continued, "Now most roads south of town are dead ends, so they've probably holed up somewhere, check the empty buildings."

Marissa proceeded to give out assignments, "Clarinets and Alto Saxes, you're in charge of Lexington Avenue, if they're on that road or one of its branches, find them." Those two leaders excused themselves and collected their sections, "Tenor Saxes, Tubas, Mellos and Bari Saxes, you've got Waverly. Trumpets, Trombones and Baritones, take Kill Creek road. Flutes, keep a lookout on the Corliss bridge. Eric, Marissa and Jaycee will be joining the hunt on Kill Creek. I will stay here and manage the search, so be sure to report in what areas your sections check."

The band divided up after a haphazard Kickass cheer and soon the various sections were just red taillights in the night time distance.

* * *

A/N: In case you are wondering, updates for this story are fairly irregular. It can be a week or two before an update or a matter of hours, depending on how much free-time I have. I typically post the chapters pretty quick after I finish them.


	11. Chapter 11

"Pull over here, Dean." Sam instructed. At his brother's request, Dean carefully maneuvered the Impala onto a side road that Mother Nature's weeds had retaken. The rugged road jostled the car's driver and passengers around as they continued down the abandoned road.

After several minutes of the headlights illuminating the dark road in yellow, Dean pulled the car into what appeared to be an abandoned, unfinished garage. The dilapidated concrete structure looked to be in danger of collapsing, a chunk of the roof had fallen through and stagnant water from the last rainstorm pooled in the pale moonlight. Dean cut the engine and turned off the car lights, he and Sam exited the vehicle. The caved-in cement had sunk low enough into the soggy ground to look like a giant paver stone. Looking up, the hole in the roof was crosshatched with bent rebar, giving it almost the feel of a prison. On the poorly lit edges of the condemned building vines and intrusive weeds poked through the concrete's cracks, intruding upon the sandy muck. Their lively green contrasting to the lifeless brown as they sped up their advance, invaders on a foreign land.

With a huff, Dean crawled up onto the hood of the car and leaned back, careful not to scratch the paint. Sam eyed the abandoned garage's shadows in distrust, despite the fact he'd chosen this hideout. For a moment Sam considered climbing onto the Impala's hood and sitting guard with Dean, but his older brother's stare dared him to try it and get his shoulder dislocated. It was apparent Dean was still angry over the duffel bags, and now was further displeased as he witnessed a condensed drop of the night's humidity splatter into glittering dew drops on the Impala's waxed roof. Dean did not appreciate parking the car in such an environment and gave Sam the biggest stink eye he could muster since it was Sam's idea to hide here.

The younger brother sighed and reopened the passenger side door, climbing back into shotgun, ignoring Logan's squeals as the high schooler tried to speak through the gag the brothers had put on his mouth. Resting atop the Impala's hood, Dean's gaze softened as he turned to look at the car, "Awww, I'm sorry Baby." He said as he wiped off the water droplets noting to his continued displeasure that the water contained mineral traces that were undoubtedly assisting in ruining the Impala's finish. "Don't worry, I'll get Sam back for this."

"Woah man, talking to your car?" a voice called from the dark unilluminated by the roof-hole. "That's just weird."

"Who's there?!" Dean was off the hood in a flash that brought Sam's attention as he whipped out his flashlight and sent the beam cleaving into the moist night. He shifted the light to search the garage eventually settling the tool's light on a wide figure that had climbed in through the window. "How did you get in here?"

"Despite looks, I'm actually quite gifted at parkour, as all Norwegians are." The figure answered, shielding his eyes against the flashlight's bright beam.

"Well, I suppose this answers the question of who." Dean muttered as Sam hopped out of the passenger seat, ready for a fight. The older brother rolled his eyes, _this guy_. Dean let the half-Norwegian approach, asking, "What are you doing here Phillip?" he recalled the conspiracy theorist's name.

"I said I'd be in touch." The pale skinned student responded, "Something's happened. It's big." He said excitedly, "The band's gone into full out search mode! Everyone's left that barn completely undefended. Now's our chance to sneak in and see what they're up to!"

The brothers looked at each other, unsure what to say. It was at that moment that Logan, still gagged in the back of the car, had gotten into a good enough position to start banging on the window and scream at the top of his lungs. "FILLUP! ELP!" The sophomore yelled repeatedly.

Squinting through his glasses at the gagged figure, identifying him as a band student, the half-Norwegian turned to the adults white with shock. "Oh. Crap." He breathed, "The band is searching for you isn't it?" The nosy high schooler tried to back away, but Sam had long since moved to his escape route and smothered the pasty half-Norwegian, dragging him forcefully back towards the car, kicking as gnashing his teeth at the large hand Sam was using to cover his mouth.

"Is it just me, or is this entire town mental?" Dean asked as Sam shoved Phillip into the black car's backseat. Sam had no response as he worked to bind the interrupting student's hands, wondering how long they'd be successful in hiding out here.

The larger of the two men Phillip had previously thought were FBI agents gave him another push and locked the car door, sealing Phillip in with the other captive. The newer prisoner's glasses had been knocked off in his struggle, and he struggled to identify the other prisoner as his captured compatriot rubbed his face intently against the seat in front of him, as if trying to scratch an impossible itch. Finally, after a minute of hard rubbing, Logan succeeded in knocking the bandana gag far enough away to speak clearly, "Phillip, it's me Logan! Please tell me you called 911 before they got to you!"

The half-Norwegian shook his head sorrowfully, "We're so gonna die." He sniffled over dramatically, panicking.

* * *

A/N: Yay for the relatively quick update! (don't expect this to happen often). It's a little short... but hey whatevs I guess. Enjoy!


	12. Chapter 12

Alice was alone in the barn for all of five minutes until the band's most boisterous section burst in yelling, "Sorry we're late! But have no fear, the drumline is here to save the day!" As the loud entrance's intended witnesses were all absent from the barn, only the crickets heard from outdoors answered the rowdy call.

Alice stepped forward from the back of the barn, as the drumline captain dropped a few choice words, evidently realizing that they were late. Alice looked at the section, displeased, "Do you care to explain why you are twenty minutes late to a meeting held less than four miles from school?"

A few underclassmen cowered in fear from Alice, but the drumline captain, Connor, stared her down. We went to pick up our equipment." He said matter-of-factly.

"And what equipment would that be?" she inquired knowing most equipment would've been stored at school, a less than five minute detour.

"Our head protection, naturally that's the most important in any active sport." He answered steadily, "We went to retrieve our bucket hats." In synchronization with the entirety of the drumline, he produced a red and yellow paper bucket and placed it on his head like a hat.

Looking at the lineup of fellow band members standing proudly with Kentucky Fried Chicken buckets on their heads, the drum major began to pace up and down the lineup. A few freshmen looked nervous, but maintained their poise, "Is this your way of telling me that you put off saving a fellow band member to take a trip into Olathe for KFC?"

Connor let out a relieved sigh at the lack of hostility in Alice's voice, "I knew you'd see it our way. Especially since Alejandro said those Hunters wouldn't hurt Logan without their werewolf gear and it was half price wing night…" he trailed off seeing the venom in Alice's stare, realizing for the first time that they _might_ have screwed up on this one.

"Drop and give me five band push-ups." She ordered and the under classmen looked about ready to cry as they obliged. Despising push-ups like any set of self-respecting individuals, the drum line was practically on their knees begging for repentance after completing the task. "Now, in standing tradition, the last section to arrive not only cleans both the barn and the stadium, but also sits out on the next case." The drumline looked to each other worriedly, no section wanted to be left at home during a mission. "However, luckily for you our current objective would benefit from as much help as possible." The percussionists' faces filled with excitement, they just might get away with it…"Except the help we need isn't out in the field," _or not,_ the drummers' faces crashed, "we need people to help organize things from here." Alice smiled happy to note that the drummers acted like they'd been punished, much as they deserved to be. "As payment for being late to tonight's meeting, the drumline will be working with me in the barn." A few of the percussionists thought about turning and running for it, but the drum major's icy glare froze them in their tracks.

* * *

Colton had come to conclude that sticking the entire mellophone section in one car had been the worst decision of all time. There may be only six of them, but things were far too cramped in Morgan's Prius to be considered even remotely comfortable. Taylor's neatly combed hair kept tickling the redhead's nose as the smaller blond male perched awkwardly on Colton's knees, trying desperately to avoid falling into the tutu still wrapped on Colton's waist every time they hit a bump. Morgan held the wheel of her silver Prius while Meg sat in the passenger side marking off points on the crumpled county map that they checked in their search for the Hunters. The rest of the backseat was taken up by Rhett with the freshman girl, Faith on his lap. The second pair easily managed to be less awkward than the two boys thanks in part to the fact Rhett had on proper dress and the added height was proving to be useful as the section scoured the country side.

The Prius' eco-friendly headlights sliced through the unusually humid October night with crisp clarity. There was nothing but shriveled up weeds and cattle fences in sight. Sighing, Meg picked up the yellow heavy-duty walkie talkie that had been given to them. Holding down the button she reported in to the barn, "This is the Mellos, we've got nothing on 109th Street. We're going to turn off on Old Rivers Road up ahead and check out the estate up there."

Meg released the talk button and waited for a response from the team working at HQ, "We read you Mellos." The response came, "Good luck on Old Rivers Road."

The junior year student shook her head, inhaling sharply, knowing they'd really drawn the short straw with Old Rivers Road. "Thanks. Let's hope we don't need it."

A condemned silence filled the car as Morgan signaled on the empty road for a turn onto the decrepit, unkempt pathway labeled Old Rivers Road. Colton looked longingly at the sign reading 109th St. wishing he could just keep going that way instead of going up towards the creepifying estate. Craggedy old trees surrounded the roadway on both sides, forming a dark tunnel that ate up the headlights' beams hungrily. The cross-dressed Cat Woman tried to keep his gaze forward, but out of his peripherals witnessed the shadows cast on the knotted tree bark morph into laughing faces with the help of his imagination. The forest laughed not at the ginger's superhero costume but at the fact he was dumb enough to venture up the road further yet.

Despite the name of the crumbling street, there was no water to be found save for the dew drops tumbling from the trees. The Kansas River's closest bank now lay about seven miles to the north, but long ago, before the river had meandered away, the river bed had lain about here, giving the name Old Rivers Road. Hardly anyone came up this street any more, except a few thrill seekers and the occasional Police Officer who had to respond to the thrill seekers' panicked calls. The only construction on the old, unclaimed land was that of the Robinson estate. Any local worth his soot would never approach the estate, let alone hide out inside, but the Hunters wouldn't have known about the reason for that, hence the why the Mellophone section was having to check it out now.

And boy, oh boy, was Colton not excited about this one as they pulled up at the front of the decaying colonial house. A well, long time dry, sat outside the white house. Off a back corner of the single story aging house was a half collapsed barn that an antiquated, rusting columbine poked out of, looking like something from a Saw movie in the meager illumination the Prius' headlights. The house's structure stood tall despite the years and violent whiplash climate Kansas often displayed. White paint peeled off the outside and wood rot was apparent on the steps leading up to the uneven porch. A bench hung by rusted chains on the porch shifted, scraping against its roof mountings despite the night's lack of wind. Colton's unease was paramount when his eyes caught a shift of movement in the house, but convinced himself it was just a trick of the artificial light on the house's shattered window. He collected himself and exited the Prius, there was no way mean old Mrs. Robinson was home anyways…

* * *

A/N: to the person who will undoubtedly complain that I can't leave you on an ending like that, **I just did.** Ok, so looking back on it I don't think this chapter is that creepy but I seriously gave myself the willy nillies writing it, so go figure. I'm also like 98% sure I am the reason the English language is so messed up, spellcheck is trying to tell me I made up like five words for this chapter because I couldn't think of one that suited my needs...


	13. Chapter 13

The hot red 1970 Ford XL convertible may not have been the most unnoticeable method of transportation, but the Tenor section favored it. Not only did the oldsmobile provide class, but also an ample amount of horsepower to tow the Bari Saxophone section on a trailer. The setup provided easy lounging and an almost uninterrupted view of the surrounding area, even if the engine was a little loud. In the vehicle, the Tenors were spread comfortably out on the wide bench seats, three in the front, three in the back. On the trailer, the trio of Baris spread out, leaning on a corner or a side of the trailer as they examined the country side for signs of habitation.

In the backseat of the red car, a conversation was building up, "What if the men we think are Hunters aren't actually Hunters." Kaleb started out, jokingly trying to sound mysterious.

Another student in the back seat, this one also named Caleb interrupted, "Plot twist: they are the werewolves we've been searching for." The suggestion wasn't half as funny as he'd hoped. There was no one present who could promise that wasn't actually the case as Logan himself had told the band nothing of the incident and the Photo Imaging students were still working to clear up the footage from Friday's game.

"Baris! Report!" Alice the drum major's voice barked over the walkie talkie.

The Bari Saxophone section leader adjusted his glasses tiredly preparing to respond, he took a deep breath and pressed the button to reply, "Baris here, we're with the Tenors turning to turn south on Waverly again." As he spoke the big Ford's turn signal activated and the trailer started a lazy turn back onto the dusty gravel road, "We checked 99th Street, nothing there."

"10-4. Keep up the good work." Came the curt reply.

The Tenors half-expected the radio to start yelling at them, but as usual they were ignored as the frustrated drum major passed over them in favor of scolding the Alto Saxophone section, which was undoubtedly slacking off.

Awhile longer the larger saxophones continued down the pot-holed Waverly road. The frogs croaked and one could picture snakes slithering around in the twitching grass, searching for a last pre-winter feast. The moon shone down illuminating the crop fields within view and throwing other objects into silver contrast.

The group of varied saxophone players were moving slowly by a nearly forgotten about road turn-off when the Bari leader called out, "Pull over! I think we've got something!"

The sleepy Tenors hopped out of the car, invigorated. The Bari leader aimed his flash light down at the sodden ground, in the mud a shoe print was freshly indented. Looking further up the road, where the red low rider had yet to travel there was a set of fresh tire tracks that pulled off onto the side road. The tracking group nodded in agreement, this was the best lead yet. The Bari leader raised the walkie talkie to his face, "Big Saxes here." He called, "I think we've got something at the Deer Creek turn off."

"Is it them?"

The Bari player shrugged, "There's no way to know yet, but go ahead and send the Trumpets over. They're gonna want in on this."

"Did you hear that Trumpets?" the voice asked, fading out with static.

"We heard it loud and clear, we'll be there in six minutes." Alejandro answered for his section.

The radio waves went silent as the Tenor leader rummaged around in the red car's trunk, eventually returning to the group with a pile of Nerf guns and pocketed black vests. He tossed out the vests and weapons, "Suit up."

* * *

As the humid night carried on, the air plummeted to a temperature more characteristic of October. For a while Dean sat on top of the Impala's hood until his breath crystalized into fog on contact with the weather. Finally relinquishing his watch outpost, he clambered back into the comfort of the Impala.

In the car's interior he found Sam looking annoyed with earplugs jammed in his ears. The eldest brother soon found out why.

"Hey, you want to hear a joke?" Phillip the half-Norwegian was asking Logan.

"Ummm..." Somehow the sophomore band student had managed to displace the gag originally tied on his mouth, "Sure?" He responded unsure.

"Ok, so why don't seagulls fly over the bay?" The second prisoner seemed to believe this to be more of a sleep-over situation rather than the hostage situation it really was.

"I don't know." Came the more solemn response.

"'Cause if they flew over the bay, we'd have to call them baygulls!" The joke fell flat on Logan's trodden nerves, "Get it?! Like baegels?"

Logan's lack of enthusiasm finally got Phillip to silence himself. And the car's passengers fell into an exhausted quiet.

After nearly a half an hour of quiet, Dean was about ready to drift off and noticed Sam had already fallen into a comatose state in the passenger seat. Phillip had konked out in an abnormal position against the car door. Logan broke the ice in a calm, fatigued voice. "Agent DeSalle," he got Dean's attention in a polite manner, "is it true that someone poisoned my water?"

The defeat in the kid's voice reminded Dean of someone who'd just been given the death penalty. "I don't know kid. All we know is that someone tried to kill you last Friday and Jaycee slipped something into your water bottle when you weren't looking." If the shoe fits... Dean reminded himself, someone was out to off Logan and the kidnapping and hiding method was the first thing he and Sam had thought of to protect the student. It was what Bobby would have called as going off half-cocked.

"But Friday night it was Louisburg, I saw it clear as day. Purple uniforms." Logan said, he could see that Dean was starting to point the finger at his band friends. "Jaycee was probably just dropping some Kool-aid powder in as a joke." He told the Agent.

Dean remembered the way Sam described the water bottle additive, "Kid, I've never seen Kool-aid powder cloud up like that." Dean replied, heart almost aching with sympathy for having friends turn on him, "You have to remember the band was present at both incidents, not to mention distracted us from you at the hospital." The band had some sort of hidden motive, just what, the oldest brother had yet to figure out. "Not to mention it would've been easy to steal some Louisburg uniforms and wear them during the initial attack..."

It was obvious that Logan didn't want to believe his friends had anything to do with the recent violence, yet even he couldn't refute the facts and strange coincidences. He realized sadly that he couldn't argue on behalf of his so called friends' characters either, he'd only known them since winter break of last year when he'd transferred in from Lawrence. And even then, he'd walked in on several rather sketchy dealings. What kind of people had lightsaber duels in class?

Dean took the band student's silence as acceptance of his and his brother's motives and the possibility that people he knew were out to kill him. The kid didn't seem too concerned about the fact it was becoming blatantly obvious that the older duo were not FBI agents. "So what about Phillip?" Logan jerked a thumb over his shoulder to the half-Norwegian still asleep against the door, breaking the temporary silence. "What's he doing here?"

Logan was clearly asking why the brothers were keeping Phillip here forcefully, "We don't know him. He could be working with whoever's trying to kill you for all we know." Everyone was skeptical on that, the pale happy-go-lucky teen didn't really seem like an attempted murderer's accomplice. Dean sighed, coming up with alternative reason to keep the half-Norwegian with them, "Or he may accidentally give our location away to whoever wants you dead."

Of course, Dean was unaware that it was already too late for that. If Dean had still been keeping watch on the Impala's flat, black hood he would have heard footsteps in the mud and the rustling of bushes. He would've sensed motion in the dark, when there should have been none.

* * *

A/N: Yay update! I do kinda feel bad for leaving it right there, but I don't think anyone's reading these as I post them, so whatevs. Hope everyone is still enjoying. And if anyone has suggestions for editing/improvement, please PM me. I'll respond eventually.


	14. Chapter 14

"Shall we announce ourselves?" Alejandro inquired with a devious grin. The present band students nodded from their various strategic positions surrounding the derelict garage. With an amused twinkle in his eyes, Alejandro raised his trumpet to his lips and began to blare the loudest incarnation of the DHS fight song, 'Wildcat Victory' as he could muster. The other students present resisted the urge to cover their ears and muffle the noise, but stayed on guard as the first notes of the music reached the car.

Dean had been reclining in the driver's seat when he heard the racket and was at once fully alert along with Logan and Phillip. Sam was a bit slower on the restart, muttering, "Turn off the alarm, Dean." Before trying to roll over and realizing they weren't at one of their infamous motel stop overs.

Logan froze, listening as Phillip took on a look of _Oh, crap_. Dean was on the verge of asking what the noise was when Logan answered the unasked question, "That sounds like Alejandro." He said hearing the crisp, clean sound and rhythms.

Instinctively, Dean was up and out of the car without a second thought to the consequences of the action. He was followed by a still yawning Sam. The obnoxious brass noise assaulted their ears, "Alright! We hear you!" Dean called, reaching into his pocket for the only weapon he had on him, a silver switch blade. "Now come on out where we can see you!"

Shapes and silhouettes emerged from the October black night. As the final notes of Wildcat Victory faded, the Winchesters were unsurprised to find themselves surrounded by band members given the noisy, obnoxious yet musical entrance. A few students started to close the distance between themselves and the Hunters before Dean held up his weapon so it reflected the moonlight and stared down the present leader of the pack, "Keep your distance! I've got a knife!"

He swished the blade around in a figure eight pattern and Sam raised his fists, but the most unimpressed look Alejandro gave him caused the older brother to reassess the situation.

The band outnumbered him and Sam by at least fifteen to one, successfully blocking any exit the duo could've taken. Sure they had the car, but Dean's newest observations indicated that the high schoolers hadn't come out empty-handed. In fact, both his and his brother's chests were peppered with red. It wasn't blood, at least not yet, Dean realized. The color was much too fluorescent, the red was self-illuminating. The shifting steam coming off the warmer than air ground caught and reflected red beams in its impossibly small ever-shifting droplets. There were thirty plus laser sights converging on the center of the brothers' chests.

A thin cloud shifted away from the moon spraying a sparse amount more thick silver light into the hole in the unfinished building's roof. The silver luminescent coating was just enough for Dean to finally see the starting points of the laser sights. Each was attached to a blue, yellow or clear plastic weapon with orange accents. An impressive array of Nerf guns, some pistols, revolvers and clip weapons were spread out in the arms of the students before him. Dean felt like laughing, _Children's toys!_ They were threatening him with kids' toys!

"As you can see, our range is far greater than yours." Alejandro told Dean, his threatening tone suspended in the damp October air. "I would advise you to put down your weapon."

The short haired brother brought the metallic blade between himself and the trumpeter, grinning, "You think I'm scared of getting hit by a toy gun?"

Dean chortled cockily, thinking he'd won while Alejandro raised an eyebrow at the Hunters. The trumpet section leader reached into his Batman costume's pant pocket and withdrew an orange foam dart. He held the toy bullet within easy view. "If you've learned anything about us, you've probably realized these aren't your average Nerf darts." Once again Dean was feeling a sense of forbidding, it seemed nothing was as it appeared with the DeSoto band. With caution, Alejandro squished down the soft, rubber tip of the foam dart, revealing the metal needle that was cleverly concealed inside every one of the darts loaded into the students' weapons. "On contact, the needle will puncture the skin of the target and deliver the substance coated on the outside." Alejandro explained to Dean, "It's a system similar to poison blow darts used by ancient ninjas. Except we use the Nerf dart as a cover and camouflage because no one around here's any good with a blow dart tube and people never question teenagers running around with Nerf guns. Luckily for you," he added, "These needles are tipped with elephant tranquilizers instead of poison."

"Elephant tranquilizers?" Sam inquired, failing to see the relevance.

"A sedative powerful enough to knock out an elephant." Alejandro continued to answer, "Or a werewolf. Or a shape shifter. Or a vampire. Or, in your case, a pair of out-of-town Hunters that stuck their nose in someone else's business." Alejandro looked at the brothers, waiting for them to make a move.

Dean was unsure what to do for a moment. Did he run? Did he try to hide in the car? He never got the chance to make the choice as Alejandro dropped the hand he'd been keeping up that told the band members to hold their fire. The band senior was smirking at the thought of the Hunters' downfall as he brought down the hold-fire signal.

An array of whizzing orange darts sailed through the unusually humid October night air. Dean felt a peck at his neck and reached up to find a dart had embedded itself there. He recognized that the band hadn't been bluffing about the sedative needles when he sluggishly fumbled to bring the dart in front of his eyes. He tried to focus on the thin, spindly puncturer as the monochrome garage danced and swirled into a gray puddle.

Alejandro and the others watched the Hunters collapse with great satisfaction. The smaller, short-haired one had been examining dart's needle when he fell onto the muddy ground in a heap of limbs. The taller one with the long hair that flared out above the ears toppled over more slowly, his body mass hindering the tranquilizers' time of effect. Neither stood a chance against the powerful sedative and it was doubtful they'd even felt the impact on the ground, they'd both simply slipped into a deep, unresistable sleep.

* * *

A/N; Sorry about the long wait, I've been busy! I was probably way to happy to knock Sam &amp; Dean out in this chapter, like really, there were a few times in the show when they needed to just be chill... oh look, here I am babbling in the Author's note...


	15. Chapter 15

The trumpet leader lead his section forward while the two large saxophone sections stayed on guard at the perimeter. They were quick and quiet in their approach using proper roll stepping technique to muffle their footfalls, as if afraid they'd wake the two sleeping princesses on the floor. They needn't have worried, a pair of the brass players took the time to nudge the unconscious men with their feet. There was no response. The trumpets knelt to take the Hunters' pulse and stood up shrugging, "Well, they're not dead." One said, "We're not digging any graves tonight." No one was particularly upset about that. Hiding bodies was always the messiest part of the job, not to mention it was a school night.

Logan watched the entire ordeal from the car window, he watched his 'guardians' collapse to the ground beyond the reach of conscious thought. The loud play through of Wildcat Victory had long since stopped as Logan had witnessed the group of people he called his friends shoot two men claiming to be cops dead. The weapon of murder, looking at the bloodless limp bodies were Nerf guns? The sophomore trumpeter was beginning to call his vision into question.

Phillip had been strangely silent through the ordeal since the notes of Wildcat Victory had been issued. Looking at the half-Norwegian now, he was pressed up motionless against the car door, a look of fear wild in his eyes.

They made eye contact briefly before the Impala's rear door was yanked open. Two sets of hands grabbed Phillip under the shoulders and dragged him up and out of the car. The door was opened considerably more gently on Logan's side of the Chevy. Another set of hands reached down and lifted him from the car. Before he registered his surroundings the bindings on his wrists were torn away and the gag hanging on his neck was removed. Logan suddenly found himself surrounded by familiar smiling faces, Alejandro patted his back, relieved, "Oh man, Logan!" The senior year student sighed, "You sure gave us a scare! Do us a favor and try not to get kidnapped by crazy Hunters next Monday."

Remembering what Sam and Dean had said, Logan suddenly became nervous surrounded by people. He tried to scoot away, but everywhere he looked there were more band members. The sophomore trumpeter's attention was consumed by the motionless masses laying in the mud. He began to worry unnecessarily, "You killed them..." He gasped.

"Don't be ridiculous." A trumpeter answered, rolling his eyes, "They're just asleep." To prove it, the trumpet player placed a heavy foot on the tall man's chest, earning a bleary groan barely heard above the squishing of mud. "Geez, we're not that kind of people."

A rustle of noise came from the other side of the Impala, drawing immediate attention. A pair of trumpet players finally managed to straighten up with a struggling Phillip held between them. It was apparent they'd spent the last few minutes wrestling to restrain the half-Norwegian as there were smears of brown mud present on their clothes and faces. "Uhhh, Alejandro, what do we do with this guy?" One of the brass players asked as the other covered Phillip's mouth to keep him quiet.

The recaptured half-Norwegian struggled to get a few words out. Eventually the second trumpet took his hand away, wiping it excessively on his pants while complaining, "Ewwww man! You can't just lick people, its gross! And weird-"

The band member's rant was cut off by Phillip's loud proclamation of, "I KNEW IT! I KNEW YOU BAND GEEKS WERE UP TO NO GOOD!"

"You're just upset we spend more time with the girl you've been married to since kindergarten than you do." A band member called from the darkness of the garage's outer perimeter.

"You-!" Phillip failed to come up with an appropriate comeback, flushing red at the subject of his kindergarten crush and later officially unofficial marriage in the elementary school cafeteria. "Shut your mouth!"

Alejandro shook his head, not particularly interested in the topic of the half-Norwegian's love life. He motioned for the trumpeters to drag Phillip out of the garage. They'd let Alice deal with that particular snag. The Hispanic trumpet section leader considered having the still struggling Phillip tranquilized, but was saved the trouble once the pair of brass players succeeded in dragging the pale high schooler around the Impala's hood.

Previously, the Impala's black body had been hiding the suspiciously still, unnaturally sprawled out on the muddy brown ground Hunters. Once around the car's long front, the corpse-like forms were within plain sight. It was unnerving to see the band's earlier victims floored in their indiscernible from death state. Without warning Phillip's legs gave way beneath him as he fainted into the wet muck, this was all just a little much. He wasn't sure he was prepared for his conspiracy theories to be right...

* * *

As the moonlight filtered down through the partial clouds, the Mellos dragged their feet as long as possible before mounting up the steps to the door. They'd thrown on the black pocketed vests as a precaution and they each clutched a Nerf gun tightly. Some flashlights had been hastily taped to the colored plastic weapons. The moulding steps to the porch bent under each step. A chunk of the bottom step fell off after the seven person section had passed over. Though they went as slow and cautious as possible, by the time the announcement of the Hunters' capture came out on the radio the Mellos were too far away from Morgan's Prius to hear its echo.

Meg nudged open the screen door as gently as possible, she acted like she was trying not to wake the house's inhabitant with the creaky door. Which, in a manner, she was trying to prevent the inhabitant's agitation. Conveniently, the aging white wooden door was unlocked, and the deadbolt had been broken on one of the band's prior escapades. A hinge on the second door was broken, as Meg widened it enough for her to step into the house, it dragged and caused a grinding noise. The Mellos winced and then froze listening. Silence answered their pause, and the group carried on.

The group left the door open in the hope of lessening noise and the chances of waking the entity held within the house's walls. Meg and Morgan lead the Mellos onward, determined and fearless, closely followed by Rhett and Colton who both shared the fierce desire to get this over with quickly. Faith and Taylor lagged behind, as a freshman, it was Faith's first time being out in the field with the band and Taylor was busy looking around the dilapidated house. He had heard stories about the House on Old Rivers Road. Bad things mostly, stories mothers told their kids to scare their baby teeth out and get out of paying money as the tooth fairy. He knew the band dedicated some of its time to keeping the mistress of the Old Rivers Road estate contained, but had never been to the site himself, until now.

Movement. A mouse scuttled across the uneven, dusty floor, vanishing under a cabinet full of dusty china. A moth-eaten curtain rippled. It was dark in the house, the decomposing drapery only kept out some of the dripping silver moonlight. The house was quiet, as the Mello's yellow flashlights bombarded the undisturbed night.

Sneaking through the kitchen, they swept their lights over every visible space. The old metal fridge was rusted and sinking into the soggy flooring. The faces of the cabinets hung by a single mounting revealing sun faded jars of preservatives that had likely gone sour. The kitchen was empty, no signs of recent life, and they walked past. The Mellos were halfway out the room when a crooning, old mother voice called out, "Sit down, sit down." the Mellos snapped around, bringing their lights on point to the words' speaker, "Visitors, oh, its been so long." Mrs. Robinson intoned pleasantly, "Won't you have some tea?" With a twitch, the elderly woman was suddenly in between the Mellos and the dining room, ushering them back into the kitchen. A wave of her hand made the chairs at the kitchen table pull themselves out. Awkwardly, and at the psychic shoving of old Mrs. Robinson, the Mellos found themselves in decaying chairs once painted blue. The seats were caked with mud and Faith tried not to look too closely at the substance that appeared to be dried blood on her seat.

Mrs. Robinson went to work pouring a chunky substance that may have once been tea into cobweb filled cups. "Tell me, what is going on around town?" the supernatural phenomena made small talk with the victims that had entered her domain, "Have they finished building the town hall?"

The middle brass players looked to each other for help, and after a brutal staring contest, Taylor was forced to speak on their behalf, "Actually ma'am, we didn't come for your lovely company." the frightened looks on his comrades faces warned him to be careful with his words, "We came to make check if some fugitives had decided to take refuge at your place of residence." Taylor tried to be gentle, but get them out of the house as soon as possible, "Have you seen anything strange around? Any unwanted guests?"

Mrs. Robinson set down the pitcher of green liquid by the sink, her expression hidden as she faced the sink, "Unwanted guests?" she inquired, "There have been none, except _you._" she whirled on the group.

The Mellos scrambled back in fear, the face of the kindly old woman had been replaced by the realistic eyeless skull that was buried beneath the ground. The skin was shriveled up around the skull, chunks of flesh hung off while worms poked out of her teeth. "You break into my house, take advantage of my hospitality and then refuse small talk to a lady who can no longer leave this decrepit old house?!" she screeched, tufts of hair stuck straight out of her bonnet, seeming rigid, coated in dirt, "HAVE YOU NO RESPECT FOR THE DEAD?!"

The Mellos were crawling away on their hands and knees as the angry ghost came charging at them, hefting a rusty kitchen knife, coated in more than rust. "We're sorry Ma'am!" Taylor yelled as he and the others stood and took off sprinting.

* * *

A/N: So its been awhile. yea i know... Hope everyone is still enjoying. Someone asked, Meg the Mellophone has nothing to do with Meg the demon from the show. they are completely unrelated.

I'll just take time to remind y'all I do not own anything Supernatural, please don't sue me


	16. Chapter 16

**PART SIXTEEN**

"Should we send someone after the Mellos?" Back in the barn, it was Alejandro who posed the question worriedly to the leadership team gathered around the map table.

The other section leaders looked to each other expectantly waiting for another to volunteer their section for the search, but the barn was oddly quiet. With the exception of the mice rustling in the hay and the snores emanating from the pair of Hunters that had been carelessly tossed into a heap in the corner, there was silence. No one had any desire to venture up to Old Rivers Road at this time of night, let alone call back their sections after they'd already been sent home. In the end, it was the Clarinet section leader that spoke up, "You know," he started timidly, "the Mellos are responsible ladies and gentlemen. I'm sure they'll been fine." a few scoffed at the 'responsible' portion of his statement, "What I mean is, there's like six of them, and there's only one ghost right?"

* * *

The Mellos ran away screaming like any responsible adult would. Chairs and several other furniture pieces flew at them under the Mrs. Robinson's control. They ducked and scrambled ran screeching at a higher volume than even the ghost of decaying Mrs. Robinson through the perfidious house of Mrs. Robinson. More than once Taylor tripped and fell, scrambling on all fours until he could get back up. At some point the ghost of the widowed woman ceased to give chase, but the Mellos ran for an extra couple minutes before anxiety and adrenaline let them stop. They'd crisscrossed every corner of the house at least twice in their panicked sprint and managed to find themselves back in the kitchen, this time alone. The half-rotten gruesome apparition was nowhere to be found, the knife encrusted in bodily rust had been placed carefully back into the wooden block that held it. Only the scuffed and stained handle could be seen protruding.

A sigh of unmanly relief escaped Taylor's lips when it occurred to him that they were alone. "Where'd she go?" he looked to the rest of the Mello section who seemed just as surprised as he by the sudden absence of the antagonized ghost.

Argumentative conversation on the pointlessness of their visit to the haunted house nearly broke out, but Morgan held out her hand to silence the increasingly irrational high schoolers. "Can you hear that?" she asked.

At her inquiry, the Mellos froze, turning their keen tuning ears to their surroundings. Aside from Rhett's somewhat out of shape heavy breathing there was another subtle noise filling room, but its sound was slowly increasing. The chirr of howling wind and driving rain began to be heard over every other noise in the room. "It's not storming outside." Faith stole a look out the dilapidated house's shattered window. The night was placid, not a single tree shivered.

The sound of howling wind whipped through the house, but the stale, molding air was tranquil. Morgan looked to her de-facto second in command, "Meg, get out the radio, I think it's time we called for reinforcements."

Meg hesitated, "I can't. I left it in the car."

The Mellos' third junior found his voice, breaking from his heavy breathing, "You did what?!" Rhett exclaimed.

"Well, I figured since it never works around ghosts it would be better off waiting safely in the car and not getting broke when we get various pieces of furniture thrown at us!" Meg defended her actions.

"Hope you're happy now!" Rhett yelped, "We're in for it now, everyone knows the phantom storm revives itself just before someone dies on Old Rivers Road!" That was indeed the top thing to remember at the Robinson house, if it began to get stormy, _run away_. A tornadic storm decades ago had killed Mrs. Robinson in graphic ways no one cared to describe, her body had been found days afterward once the storm debris had cleared, but only after her volatile spirit had been condemned to haunt the property. A reenactment of the powerful storm occurred every time another soul was condemned by the capricious ghost to forever wander among the forsaken ruins of Old Rivers Road.

Naturally, the arrival of the phantom storm only left one question for the Mellos; who was about to die? "Wait," Morgan suddenly realized that something was horribly, horribly wrong, "Where's Colton?!"

Colton's red curls trembled with fear as he stared into the dark, unknown territory of the creaky, old cellar with the canned vegetables. Suddenly a scraping sound across the wall opposite of where Colton sat caused him to jump in his seat and shout out, "Faith help!"

At the screaming attempt of Colton to bring help, Mrs. Robinson sped towards Colton's petrified face until she was a mere inch from the luscious curly-cues of the band member.

"Faith isn't going to help you now," the women spoke in what Colton found more terrifying than that of any member of the band leadership. Letting the air in the room shift almost as if the ghost herself was breathing down the neck of the perpetually shocked mello. While Colton racked his mind for a semi-logical way out of the perplexing predicament the ghost prepared the rusty pitchfork that would soon be plunged into the chest of the screaming ginger, the only way for him to save himself now would be to sell his soul.

"Please don't! They can't have an empty hole at Baker!" Shouted Colton through his quaking voice and still shuddering, russet curls. Colton brainstormed for several minutes while he assumed his supernatural friend was off warming her future weapon of death. To calm himself Colton thought of straight lines during pregame and pep band songs where the whole band came in on time and cut off together. The only possible solution Colton could think of was using his amazing music abilities to begin a song only the band knew so well.

"Heeeyyyy hey baby," Colton sang confidently, imaging the tuba part in his head. "HOO HA! I wanna knooowwww if you'll be my girl."

The ginger continued to sing often filling in the tuba part with his very in tune humming.

Once Mrs. Robinson had returned with her now burning red pitchfork she heard the blood curdling voice of the band member, who like the rest of the band thought he was also a member of the choir, yet was taken aback by the kind words of the song. Would the young football player and band member really want to be hers?

"Yes! Yes I will be your girl!" Shrieked the ancient ghost.

Colton while being slightly alarmed that the ghost had taken his words so literally, he took his opportunity of escaping death. Once free from his torturous metal chair and bindings that were still not as uncomfortable as the chairs in the band room, Colton got up to put his arm around the Mrs. Robinson and walked out of the room to find his other fellow mellos.

* * *

*completely ignores multi-month absence* New chapter, yay! I let the infamous coauthor have a go at it for like the first time in a (very long) while, so we can all see how that turned out... Anyway, hope everyone still enjoys this mayhem and please don't sue me many anything Supernatural in this story is copyright of someone else. They deserve all the credit! :)


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